Operation: Princess Wife
by E. S. Young
Summary: The history of Loki's terribly misguided attempts at love and friendship is both heartbreaking and cringe-worthy. That he manages to be successful anyway and win over the unlikeliest of people is nothing short of miraculous. Especially when it's all thanks to his spiteful, cantankerous wife. Features both slash and het, angst and humor, and plenty of Norse mythology.
1. Chapter 1

***~.****.~***

**Operation: Princess Wife**

¸.•°*°•..~~..•°*°•.¸

At some point, Jane Foster decided that they were friends. Jane Foster: astrophysicist with an IQ of 178; graduate of CalTech with a PhD in aerospace engineering, and MSs in physics and astronomy; now a member of SHIELD's Aeronautics and Space Research and Development Department. Driven, focused (re: slightly obsessive), protective (re: territorial, somewhat feral—mainly when it came to her research), practical, no-nonsense. Yet at _some point_, Jane decided that she and a government-yes-I've-kill-people-agent/assassin/spy were friends. Best friends. BFFs. _Besties_.

Okay, so in fairness, Jane has never actually used any of those terms (thank God). But it is still apparent that the other woman considers them friends.

From a psychological standpoint, Jane's behavior makes sense. A young woman in a new and male-dominated environment, nervous but determined to prove herself…it was natural that she would gravitate toward the only other woman present. Being the girlfriend of one of the other Avengers as well as a SHIELD employee means that Jane spends a lot of time with the team. And being the only female Avenger means that Natasha is that woman.

Yeah, it kind of makes sense. Especially given that Thor, while he obviously cares about Jane, is neither astute nor emotionally mature enough to comprehend "girl talk." (From what she knows of Asgardians, they have never been big on tearful breakdowns or touching heart-to-hearts. Natasha thinks that she would do well on Asgard, if it weren't for their complete under-appreciation for stealth tactics.)

And because Pepper Potts is busy running a company and rejecting all of Tony's attempts to produce an Iron Man cartoon show, Jane's only other option is Natasha.

It also makes a pathetic sort of sense that Jane would continue to seek out Natasha's company. There is the potential camaraderie that could come with the alliance of two girls trying to make it in a man's world. But Natasha knows that there's more to it than that. Given Jane's history—home schooled, straight-A student, graduated college young—her personality—ambitious workaholic, sometimes dismissive of others in favor of intellectual pursuits—and the fact that the woman quit her job in Puente Antiguo, New Mexico almost immediately after being offered a position with SHIELD… Yeah, safe to guess that Jane has few friends—none that she is close to—and is estranged from her parents. That she isn't hesitant to latch on to people who are civil toward her and don't interfere with her work says that she isn't completely anti-social, would even like some companionship.

What _doesn't_ make sense is that Jane actually seems to _enjoy_ Natasha's company.

To reiterate: Natasha Romanoff is a government super operative, a _secret agent_. She can kill someone with a stuffed _penguin_ (long story). Her job description basically reads: Perform espionage, interrogate, kill people, get paid, be okay with that. And she _is_. And because of this, Natasha is neither warm nor fuzzy. She can _feign _a nice personality as easily as donning a mask (oh, good simile; very original), but in reality she's barely _approachable_. When you're taught at age four that forming attachments is for the weak and that people make better tools than friends…you also learn that it's better this way.

And yet Natasha repeatedly finds herself sharing coffee with Jane, swapping texts with Jane, and having fairly regular movie nights with Jane. The other woman has even managed to talk her into watching Disney _Princess_ films, for God's sake.

It's all for the sake of keeping the astrophysicist humored. Behavioral evidence suggests that Jane has the potential to succumb to neurosis if she becomes overtaxed, so it's in SHIELD's best interest if someone ensures that the other woman takes a break every now and then. Even if that does mean that Natasha has to endure tooth-grindingly cheerful cartoons that encourage feminine weakness and unrealistic aspirations.

"Okay, I'll admit, Snow White's voice is a little grating—"

"A _little?_"

"…it makes me feel like my eardrums are gonna explode for their own protection." A beat. "All I'm saying is that _Beauty and the Beast_ isn't that bad. Belle's _smart_, she's focused on what's _important_—and she never compromises who she is, even if it makes her an outcast."

Natasha raises an eyebrow, zeroing in on Jane's tone in those last four words. Slightly wistful. She's over-identifying, which explains why she's so quick to defend the film. Natasha wants to roll her eyes, but then she pictures an eight-year-old Jane (too smart, too quiet, happy with her studies but hurt when this means that the other kids won't invite her to play) and…fine. She can see where a child would be enraptured by someone they could finally relate to—and a _princess_, no less, and one in a _Disney _movie, too, because apparently every little girl in the US is taught to emulate these cartoon royals. But add to that children's natural penchant for being shallow and Belle's having the same hair and eye color as Jane…of course the other woman is enamored. It's _still_ a juvenile display of over-identifying, but Natasha won't hold it against her.

"And you laughed—okay, you didn't really laugh, but your mouth _twitched_ when she tricked Gaston into doing a header into the pigsty. It _did_, and I'm citing that as proof."

Jane looks pleased, and Natasha is about to prove her wrong—emotions: they're for the weak and all that—but then she just shrugs.

"Guy's an asshole. And I love how the _whole town_ is on board with his forcing Belle to marry him. They don't care if she says no or that he'll be raping her on their wedding night. Women are just baby machines, anyway."

The other woman has this smile on her face that indicates that she knows something Natasha doesn't (unlikely).

"Someone's getting into this," Jane noted slyly.

"I'm just at the end of my rope and am prepared to turn it into a noose the next time I come across another self-important megalomaniac who thinks he can do what he wants and that everyone will blindly obey."

Another beat.

"What did Loki do this time?"

She looks at Jane, a little…not _surprised_. Natasha doesn't do 'surprised' because that's how you end up with a bilboquet lodged in your shoulder. She simply didn't expect the other woman to be so perceptive. And that's unfair, because Jane is anything but stupid. It's just that she usually isn't attuned to anything unless it involves science. Or Disney Princesses, apparently.

"Turned every vehicle in Manhattan into bumper cars," she finally answers.

"Well, that's better than when he turned them all into ice cream," Jane says fairly. "Less messy."

Natasha says nothing because, all right, Jane has a point. Not to mention that with bumper cars being, well, _bumpered_, the city had actually seen fewer accidents than it does on most normal, Loki-free days. It seems that bumper cars are a great panacea for people with road rage.

"Call it a slow day for him," Natasha mutters. "Don't forget that, since returning to Earth, he's impersonated the King of Belgium; tried to make the Jamaican flag international; put giant replicas of his Freudian helmet on the Sphinx, the Spring Temple Buddha, the Statue of Liberty, _every single_ Lenin statue—"

"Wait, '_Freudian_' helmet?"

"He's an egotistical, unathletic man with Daddy issues who's always been second-best to someone like _Thor_. And he wears a helmet with big, golden _horns_. We should just call that thing his Compensation Hat and get it over with."

The other woman snickers quietly but points out "You could say the same thing about Thor and his hammer, though."

"_Could_ you?"

Jane purses her lips, shifty-eyed.

"…no."

"That's what I thought." And Natasha settles back to watch the rest of the movie. Apparently, the Beast (wait, seriously? he doesn't have a name?) has rescued Belle from a vicious pack of wolves (stupid; wolves rarely attack people) but has been injured in the process. Instead of doing the sane thing and seizing the opportunity to escape, Belle has taken him back to the castle because she is a moron—sorry, a "Good Person" like that. The Beast is now showing his gratitude by being a condescending asshole.

That's one condescending asshole too many.

But before Natasha can begin her rant anew, Jane kicks it in the face with a postulation.

"Wonder if that's what he needs."

And Natasha, who prides herself and has in fact made a _career_ on being hyper-aware, has no idea what she's talking about.

"What are you talking about?"

"Loki," Jane replies. "Maybe he just needs a girlfriend. You know, to distract him. Give him something better to do—oh. Oh, not like _that_…although, obviously, eventually they—but I didn't… Nevermind."

"Be glad Stark's not around."

"Thanking every Norse god I know," Jane agrees weakly. "But seriously, what if it's like _Beauty and the Beast?_ He might seem rude and conceited—"

"I can't believe you just quoted indirectly."

"—but if he met the right person, someone who could stand up to his bullshit, maybe he'd stop taking his anger out on you guys? I mean, from the way Thor talks about him, Loki's grown up feeling pretty unworthy and neglected, despite being one of the most intelligent and powerful people in the Nine Realms. So, I dunno, what if he met someone who appreciated him? Who's to say he wouldn't change?"

"His psychological makeup? Evident in the fact that he's repeatedly tried to take over the world?"

"_Has_ he, though? Seems like he just wants to annoy you guys."

And damned if there isn't more to that than Jane knows. Or is supposed to know. Thor's probably told her everything about the alleged 'Chitauri Misunderstanding,' since the man has seemingly no grasp on the concept of discretion.

"By constantly annoying us, he's ensuring that we waste time and energy that could be put to better use."

"Which is why we should work on finding him a girlfriend," Jane concludes, as if it's so simple.

"Indeed, 'tis a fine idea, my lady!" Thor declares from behind them.

Jane nearly falls off of the couch in surprise but Natasha only blinks, having heard the God of Thunder the second before he entered the room (though honestly, super spy or not, how could Jane miss him? the man could give Gaston a run for his money, tromping around wearing boots like he does).

"Indoor voice, please," Jane reminds him with strained sweetness.

"Forgive me, my darling," he implores (and using endearments like that, Natasha knows that he's totally forgiven). "But it is true: In the past, my brother's spirits have always seemed much improved whenever he is courting a maiden. However, before choosing a suitor, I would ask that you first inform his wife of your plans."

"His _what!?_" both women exclaim.

Natasha remembers thinking not too long ago that nothing ever surprises her. Clearly, she was wrong. Normally, this would mean a massive re-assessment of her skills, but at the moment, she is too stunned and repulsed to care.

"Loki has a _wife?_" she demands.

"You're condoning _infidelity!?_" Jane cries.

"Well, if the couple has not yet pledged devotion to one another—"

"They're _married!_"

Despite numerous evidence to the contrary, Natasha knows that Thor is not actually an idiot. His knowledge of weaponry, combat, and battle tactics rival even her own. But where he excels in the art of war, he's kind of hopeless when it comes to people. Today is a perfect example. To most, Jane's reddening complexion and shrill tone would have been telltale signs of an impending relationship apocalypse. Thor, however, just stands there, smiling genially as if his words make perfect sense and Jane is merely too simple to comprehend. No, this won't end badly.

"Jane, you must understand," Thor attempts to placate, "when one lives as long as the Æsir, it is only natural for couples to seek out others to warm their beds, otherwise the relationship is likely to grow tedious and strained."

"So you see nothing wrong with '_lying_' with other women?" Jane presses.

Thor beams and shakes his head.

"Not at all!"

Natasha suspects that Thor might find himself being exiled to the couch, tonight.

Were she more prone to gesticulation, this is where she would do a facepalm. Instead, she merely closes her eyes and finds herself suddenly struck with musical inspiration:

_No…one's…thick like that Thor,_

_Is a dick like that Thor,_

_No one's ass needs a really good _kick_ like that Thor!_

Yeah, they are so done with Disney for a while.

When she opens her eyes, Natasha sees a bewildered Thor and a frustrated Jane who is clearly trying to stay calm.

"Okay, I know that it might be acceptable on Asgard…but here on Earth, sleeping with someone when you're already in a committed relationship—_especially_ a marriage—is usually frowned upon. This isn't like on _the Tudors_ where it's okay for men to run around on their wives."

"Oh, Asgardian women engage in this practice as well," Thor assures her. Natasha doesn't know whether to hit him for being oblivious or laugh at Jane's pinched expression.

"That's _not_ the _point_," Jane seethes.

Thor's eyes widen, and…there it is. Realization has finally dawned.

"Jane…do you believe that _I_ have lain with another?"

He looks aghast and Jane shifts uncomfortably, saying "Well you were being so casual about it, and you said it was _normal_ on Asgard, so naturally it _did_ occur to me…"

"Oh _Jane_," Thor cries, looking happy and boisterous once more as he sweeps his considerably smaller girlfriend into his arms and kisses her firmly. "I would not dare!" he announces passionately. "With your being a mortal, unless I can convince Father to grant you access to Idunn's apples, our time together is brief. Ergo, I will spend not a second on another, for I desire nothing more than to cherish every moment I have with you."

Jane's expression is a teary-eyed combination of shocked and touched, but mostly the other woman seems elated because she promptly throws her arms around the thunder god's neck and gives him a fierce snogging.

Natasha rolls her eyes. Saps. Frankly, she found Thor's little declaration to be a bit…depressing. But Jane knows what she's doing. In any case, they need to readdress the initial problem.

She clears her throat.

"The small matter of the _wife?_"

"Aye, the Princess Sigyn," Thor explains. "Lady of Constancy, unwavering in her loyalty to her husband."

"Oh, why don't we just ask her for help?" Jane asks Natasha, like they've actually decided to go through with this. "Loki's less of a hassle when he's dating someone, and this woman's already his wife—and he must really love her if she's so loyal to him, right?" She turns to Thor.

He nods.

"Indeed, they are legendary, the lengths my brother went to in order to win his lady's heart."

"Not her literal heart, right?" Natasha asks. "I've noticed that the line between metaphor and reality in Norse myths is kinda thin."

But Thor waves her off. "Nay, 'twas the heart of his previous suitor, Angrböda." Then he smiles because literally giving someone your heart is apparently a standard part of Asgardian mating rituals.

"_And_," Jane continues teasingly, "according to Disney, hooking up with a princess guarantees a happy ending."

"Tell that to Pocahontas," Natasha mutters.

"She wasn't a _real_ princess."

Thor just looks confused.

"I know not of whom you speak, but I assure you that my sister-in-law's presence nearly always ensures a successful outcome. After all, among other things, she is the Goddess of Victory."

"Well," Natasha says dryly, "with that flawless logic, how can we lose?"

* * *

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* * *

Three days later, Natasha finds herself sitting in front of the latest version of the StarkBook laptop (it's red. metallic. effing. _red_), Skyping with Director Fury. Behind her, the inventor of the aforementioned laptop is loudly rummaging through the kitchen, using the paper-thin guise of making a smoothie when in actuality he's looking for his bottle of Glenfiddich forty-year-old single malt. Natasha's squirreled it away somewhere safe (good scotch is good scotch, damnit), but she's anticipating the inevitable breakdown that will come when Stark convinces himself that she's thrown it out.

"Let me see if I've got this straight," the irate Fury (is there any other kind?) begins, "because I think I might've missed a couple _vital points_ when I was distracted by the line of absolute _bullshit_ you just spewed at me."

Natasha blinks, slowly, unmoved.

"Wait," Stark interrupts, "are you talking about the plan to have Princess Zelda melt the God of Dickery's icy heart with the power of love? Because _that_ plan has 'win' written _all _over it. Though personally I don't see why we can't just use Steve. I mean he meets all of the princess qualifications, only with more muscle—which is probably to our advantage—"

"Stark," Natasha warns.

"Hey, I'm on your side," he says defensively. "Stopping an evil, all-powerful god by sending in _another_ all-powerful god who Wikipedia claims is only known for two things: Being said evil god's wife _and_ being mindlessly devoted to him? Yeah, that won't backfire into 'Loki vs. Iron Man, Round II.'"

"'Loki vs. _the Avengers_, Round II,'" Natasha corrects. "And if you don't shut up, I'll use a chokehold on you."

"You're not allowed to do that—she's not allowed to do that," Stark says, addressing the laptop.

"She is in the event that you become more of a liability than an asset," Fury replies. He gives the other man a pointed look. "And having to put up with your bullshit during an urgent meeting with her boss? I'd say that counts."

Stark takes a step back, hands rising in a gesture of surrender.

"Fine. But I'm telling Pepper on you guys."

"Who do you think gave me authorization?" Natasha tops that off with a rare smile. Smirk. Twitch, if anything. Her tolerance for egotistical, condescending assholes is still dangerously low, and with Loki flying under their radar, she'll have to make do with Stark. Which sounds much more inappropriate than it really is, but that's a given with him.

Fury cuts in before Stark can fire a retort.

"If asked, I'll deny ever saying this, but he _has_ a point. What the hell makes you sure that this _isn't_ gonna result in another attempted world takeover?"

Here Natasha sighs, shutting her eyes meditatively. Only the slight pinch of her brow indicates any sign of aggravation.

"Since we're making these kind of statements, _I_ never said _this_: In Loki's defense—" cue teeth grinding "—he never intended to take over the world."

"Right," Stark adds unhelpfully. "The earth was just a _tool_ in his grand-ass scheme to distract a gang of intergalactic robo-slugs from taking over his _own_ planet. Realm. Thing. It's clear he could give a shit less about _us_, so when his lady friend tells Lokilicious that she wants Monaco for her birthday, there's nothing to stop him from saying 'Sure, baby, anything for you.'"

"Except the fact that Loki's too self-serving and refined to ever say anything like that," Natasha counters. "And that it's been seven months since he's returned to Earth and he hasn't made a single attempt at global domination."

"That's what he _wants_ you to think," Stark admonishes, paranoid and cynical.

"Thor has given his word that his brother's intentions are harmless," Natasha continues over him. "And you know how Asgardians are about making vows. And aside from the property damage—which he has always rectified—"

"'Rectify'—good word choice for a guy with a golden stick up his—" Stark is abruptly silenced when a pillow attacks his face.

"—Loki hasn't actually done anything to endanger human lives—"

"He stole my socks!"

"Only the left ones." Natasha waves another pillow warningly and the billionaire shuts his trap. Turning back to Fury, she concludes, "But clearly, he's not out to rule the world and enslave humanity. Dr. Foster has pointed out that, if anything, he just seems to be—"

"Trolling us," Stark supplies, ducking at another pillow threat. "Because he's a big attention whore because Odin All-Daddy didn't give him enough hugs as a kid."

"I'm surprised you two don't get along better," Natasha comments wryly.

Stark opens his mouth, closes it, then shakes his finger at her.

"Ooh…that's low, 'Tash, way low. Playing on a guy's Daddy Issues? Just for that, I'm not helping you with Operation: Princess Wife."

She merely shrugs.

"Okay. Jane's almost ready to make her Einstein-Rosen bridge, anyway. Besides, she'll probably get it done faster without your music and overall personality, uh, '_harshing_' her _'groove_.'"

"Doubt it. Intend to _prove_ it." And with that, Stark is on his feet and headed for the exit. "I'll be in my lab."

"Remind me to give you a raise," Fury remarks after the playboy inventor has vanished.

"Who says you always have to use brute force?" Natasha replies. "Back to the point: Whether or not Loki poses an actual threat, he's still interfering with the Avengers' initiative. Engaging him in physical combat has proven to be more detrimental the team than anyone else. Until we can find a way to keep Loki contained, I think we need to try a different approach. Thor insists that Loki has always been more…placid…whenever he's had something to…distract him."

"And you wanna do that by getting him _laid?_"

"According to Thor, the only other things that can hold his brother's attention are quests for treasure, learning new spells, and having sex. Since he'll never believe that _we_ want him to find El Dorado and since the last thing we want is for him to become more powerful…that leaves sex.

"From what I've gathered on this woman, she may be a god, but she doesn't pose a threat. Granted, the myths don't offer much, but from the information that Thor has provided, she's appears to be introverted and nonviolent. When the wormhole generator is complete, we only need to contact her and see if she'll agree to assist us. If not, then that's it. We try something new.

"Besides," she goes on, her voice adopting a darker edge, "you owe the team for making us believe that Coulson was dead."

Of course, Fury is unapologetic, merely raising his eyebrows at her.

"Are you saying, Agent Romanov, that _you_ actually fell for that ploy?"

"Of course not," she answers at once. "But what I _am saying_, is that the ones who _did_ fall for it, are _not_ your biggest, fans right now. To the point where some of them are reluctant to work for you again."

Fury gives her a long, hard look that Natasha supposes is meant to prompt tears and shrivel testicles, but damned if it has any effect on her. And after several seconds of silent glare-battle, her director eventually gives her a nod.

"All right," he consents. "Get Stark and the others off their asses and on their feet. Tell them Operation: '_Princess_ _Wife'_ has been approved."

* * *

¸.•°*°•.¸

* * *

Almost everyone turns up for the execution of Operation: Princess Wife. And that _is_, apparently, what it's being called. Once Fury said it (and Stark refused to _stop_ saying it), the name seemed to stick.

Jane is here because she's the expert, it's her damn experiment, and she completed (before Stark did, Natasha is pleased to note) both the gravitoelectromagnetic wave generator _and_ the quantum foam stabilizer, but is still worried about everything in that way that Jane is always worried about everything involving astrophysics.

Stark is here because, and because "It's still _my_ technology that's powering your wormhole-maker, and you people don't know a _thing_ about arc reactors." Although, when they were working together, Stark mostly played his music too loud, criticized the idea of magic, and nearly drove Jane to hysterics by insisting that she'd never create a successful "GEM-generator" unless she loosened up. But while that might work on Stark World, Jane Land clearly operates differently. Natasha eventually had to warn the womanizing asshole that his Chivas Regal would end up the way of his Glenfiddich if he didn't get to work and leave Jane alone. He is currently in full armor because, he says, the arc reactor that he's built to power the GEM device gives off energy levels that might be too hot for anyone else to handle. Natasha suspects it's really because he's afraid of getting thrown out another window.

Thor is actually perched on the edge of a large, round opening in the roof because this is the best (safest) place for him to conduct the electricity used to direct the wormhole/bridge. He's also here because he is their resident expert in Norse mythology and thus he (hopefully) knows best how to handle anything their Princess Wife might throw at them. The man appears to be eager to see his sister-in-law, but then, Golden Retriever-level eagerness is a standard with Thor. Although, she allows, it might just be nice to talk to a fellow Norse god who isn't his insult-hurling dickhead (oh, _ha_) brother.

Thing is, since returning to Earth for the third time, Thor has been unable to interact with any of his family or friends. Apparently, rebuilding a Rainbow Bridge takes time, and Thor's father had spent most of his energy on sending his eldest to Earth to wrangle his youngest, and the last of it on sending Thor back when Loki had shown up again.

Which means that when Fury gave their plan the go-ahead, the thunder god was ecstatic. And ever since then, he has gone to the top of Stark Tower first thing every morning and literally _shouted_ to Heimdall (security guard to the _Bifröst_ and Asgard's version of Mycroft Holmes), instructing the man to "Alert the Princess Sigyn! Inform her that her brother-in-law, Thor Odinson, wishes to request an audience with her! Please have her ready herself to travel to the New City of York, in the Realm of Midgard!" Every. Goddamn. Morning. All the more reason why Natasha is relieved that Jane has finally finished the wormhole-maker.

Fury is here because he can't leave well enough alone. Clint is here, armed to the teeth, because "I'm not taking any chances with these goddamn gods, Natasha—" (goddamn gods, Clint, really?) "—I mean it, I still get weird-ass Nutella cravings from when that bastard was in my head."

And _she_ is here because, somehow, this has become _her_ 'project.' Even though it was all Jane's idea. Jane should at least get half the (responsibility) credit.

Banner isn't here because his heart and consequently the Hulk can't take the stress and neither can Jane, who would probably have a conniption if the man smashed any of her equipment. Steve—even she can't stick to his surname; guy's too damn nice—is also absent because he's giving a lecture at PS 321 on the importance of serving the country, protecting the planet, and recycling. Coulson is "babysitting" Steve even though the Captain is probably the most responsible team member; Natasha suspects that this is largely because no one wants to risk the man being stabbed by another alien deity.

"Okay," Jane calls out, practically vibrating with excitement. "Everybody ready?"

A small commotion as guns are cocked, bows poised, giant hammers are raised, arc reactors hum to life, and everyone shuffles to attention. Fingers ghosting over the firearm at her hip, Natasha gives Jane a sharp nod.

Offering a tentative smile in return, the other woman steadies herself behind her quantum foam stabilizer. Stark's latest and greatest arc reactor glows ominously as its creator aims the GEM control device at the platform where they're hoping to open the wormhole. High above them, a storm begins to brew at Thor's request. With a deep breath, Jane begins the sequence.

There is a lot of noise, and a lot of light.

Later, Natasha will say that it was impressive but nothing beyond the CGI effects found in a SyFy channel movie. But at the moment, the entire room becomes awash in such a tremendous energy that it feels like the floor is shaking, even though everything remains perfectly still. Switches are thrown, the platform is elevated slightly, the darkened sky crackles with electricity, and for a moment it's just like they're trying to recreate Frankenstein's monster.

The walls seem to curl inward then go rigid, and suddenly a brilliant, electric arc shoots into the sky—a pulsating, effervescent column of incandescence. It is a swirling mass of pure, blinding, white-hot _light_, and it buzzes with a force that Natasha can both hear and feel. It all gathers rapidly at the top of their domed ceiling, undulating in a way that is both beautiful and forbidding. Then, in a split second, it contracts into nothingness. But it's still _there_, it isn't _gone_, she can still sense it—they all can.

Suddenly there is a rip, an actual _rip_—there's no other way to describe it—like someone has taken a knife and torn a hole in the ceiling, and it is golden and smoldering around its crenulated edges. Through the rift, Natasha can see a flicker of plum sky dotted with stars, of another world, before a band of shimmering, molten color surges forth. It's like a heated waterfall as it spills to the floor, one that hardens into a crystallized array of every shade imaginable. Delicate yet nearly indestructible. Sturdy enough to act as a bridge that would carry a god between two worlds.

As she thinks this, a beacon of golden-white appears on the platform, thrumming steadily along with the energy of the room. Unearthly and intense, the light begins to quiver, twisting around and curling inward as something takes shape.

Natasha blinks—_one blink_—and in that miniscule, unimportant second the light has stilled. Fleshed-out. And there is now a woman standing on the platform, a disconcerting aura ebbing around her.

Whatever Natasha has been expecting, it isn't this.

Princess Sigyn (assuming that _is_ whom she's looking at) would not look out of place in a _Vogue_ photo spread, modeling one of the more abstract collections. Medieval royalty meets Erté couture. She is wearing a licorice-colored wimple under a v-neck gown of black satin that hints of a silvery floral pattern whenever it catches the light. Most of this is hidden beneath long, sweeping robes the rich color of red wine. Around her shoulders is an onyx-colored cape decorated with twisting, jet-black runes and fastened at her throat by a silver fox fur collar. Thin, delicate hands, protected by fine black gloves, reach out from almost knee-length trumpet sleeves to clasp the opal-topped knob of a silver walking cane.

The woman herself is tall and willowy, though the bizarre peaked shoulders of her robes make her seem wider, more intimidating. Every inch of skin has been covered, save for her face. What could be seen would probably make a Romantic-Era poet liken it to alabaster. Like most of the gods, this one is undeniably beautiful. In that haughty, somewhat malnourished fashion model kind of way. She has the envy-inducing cheekbones and sharp chin that come with a diamond-shaped face. A pretty, pointed fox face. Her nose is long, would appear large if it wasn't narrow and upturned. Her mouth is the small, full moue of someone who rarely smiles, and her dark eyes, though wide, are almond-shaped and heavy-lidded, which only encourages the image of the bored, disdainful aristocrat. Judging by the shade of her immaculate, high-arching eyebrows, Natasha suspects that her hair is either golden brown or dark blonde. Whatever the color, it's hidden beneath the ensemble's gleaming showpiece: On her head, she wears a smooth, pewter headdress adorned with two gently curved horns, reminiscent of those of a Nyala bull.

No, definitely not like a princess.

"Tell me, friends," Thor suddenly calls from the roof, "has my sister-in-law arrived?"

Before anyone can make a move, the woman speaks.

"Midgardian warriors—I am Sigyn of Vanaheim, Princess of Asgard. I come at the behest of Thor Odinson, but be forewarned…" She raises her hand. A silver, full-finger claw ring glitters ominously. "…do not seek to impede me." And her fingertips begin to _glow_.

As if everybody wasn't tense enough… To her left, Natasha can hear Fury's muttered "Oh _hell_ no." and she silently has to agree. Mission failed. Time to abort.

"For I bear a magnificent onus," the goddess continues. "My intellect is more vast than your largest oceans, and through my veins courses a power you cannot be_gin_ to comprehend. Heed my words, mortals, for I will _not_—"

There's a soft _whoosh_ from Natasha's right. The next thing she knows, Fury is aiming his gun, Jane's yelling at Clint, Stark has activated his energy repulsors, and Princess Sigyn has fallen to the floor with an arrow protruding from her chest.

* * *

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**- ****Author's Commentary**** -**

Jane likes Disney Princesses – in fiction, people who are insanely smart often seem to have unexpected quirks, habits, and/or outlets. For Jane, I decided to make her a fan of Disney Princess films because 1) with a story that largely centers on deconstructing the princess archetype, they needed to be included _somehow_, 2) I can't see anyone else being a fan or even liking them that much, and 3) I _can_ see Jane being a fan because of how taken she is by Thor's chivalry and because she was keen to believe that he was a god almost from the beginning. She strikes me as the kind of person who would watch the films to relax because while it might all be a fantasy, it's still a nice idea.

The Jamaican Flag – the country's national colors, represented on their flag, are black, green, and gold. I figured that Loki would probably appreciate this.

"…_every single_ Lenin statue" – Vladimir Lenin lead the October Revolution, which overthrew the monarchy and lead to Tsar Nicholas Romanov and his entire family being executed, even Anastasia—yes, _that_ Anastasia ( www. independent. co. uk/news/world/europe/mystery-solved-as-tests-prove -tsars-entire-family-was-murdered-1642089. html). Afterward, Lenin became the first Premier of the former Soviet Union. To this day, he's seen as both a hero and a villain, with the former ensuring that tons of statues and monuments have been erected in his honor. Therefore, Loki's putting his helmet on them is somewhat symbolic (one ambiguously evil advocate of change management supporting another).

Angrböda – the myths seem undecided on whether the heart that Loki ate belonged to Angrböda or a witch named Gullveig—and some theorists say they're one in the same. And no one seems to know whether Loki ate Angrböda's heart and gave birth to _just _Hela, or if it was Fenrir and _Jörmungandr_as well, or if he only gave birth to all of the trolls in the world, _or_ if Angrböda had all three of Loki's monster kids. The only kid that anyone is certain he gave birth to is Sleipnir.

Wormhole Generator – as my areas of expertise are psychology, criminology, and the English language, do _not_ take any of the science-related stuff as gospel. Being a meticulous researcher, I _did_ look up information on wormholes to at least (hopefully) get the terms right. Apparently, building a device that would generate them wouldn't be that difficult and people have already made patents for such machines; the only thing that's stopping us is our inability to create GEM waves. Check out the link: www. instructables answers/Is-building-a-wormhole-generator-possible/ 

Asgard's version of Mycroft Holmes – Heimdall isn't the Asgardian government, but he does share Mycroft's ability to see and know everything about everyone. Initially, I was going to use J. Edgar Hoover (the 1960's version of Mycroft Holmes), but figured that people might enjoy a _Sherlock_ reference.

PS 321 – also known as William Penn School is an elementary school in Park Slope, Brooklyn, New York, so I think Steve would be inclined to lecture there.

Nyala bull – I spent entirely too much time trying to find a set of horns that perfectly matched my mental image of Sig's helmet and headdress, if only because I didn't want to flat-out admit in the initial description that Tony's right ( www. disneyvillains images/Maleficent. jpg). Turns out, the Nyala bull is a pretty good fit: www. wildlife-pictures-online image-files/nyala_mkgr-8446_blog. jpg

That said, it's been ages since since I wrote fanfiction and even longer since I wrote het, so please do let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

_There's nothing to it, really..._

* * *

Oh _dull_. The All-Father was _still_ shouting at him. Berating him. Demanding explanations and repentance for the heinous wrongs he had committed—all while he was still wearing a gag, thus Odin truly sought only to bring attention to that fact and cause him further humiliation. Most likely the man had instructed Thor to use the device so that his conniving false-brother would be unable to use his gift of eloquence to manipulate his captors. But there _was_ the inkling that it was meant as a twofold insult—a evocation to all of his reputation as a weaver of lies, and a reminder to _him_ of his place as the overlooked son, secondary and silent. And, of course, he was unable to interrupt the All-Father's tirade. Truthfully, he supposed that if he were to see the current situation from Odin's narrow, cycloptic point of view, the man was justified in playing the _skeltāri_...

But again, _dull_. He was paying attention—of course he was—but, really, this farce had long since grown tedious and he was eager for his chance to speak. Odin had already dubbed him _níðingr_—

"_That_ is what all of Asgard is calling you! _Never_ has such _disgrace_ befallen the House of Odin!"

—threatened imprisonment—

"For your deceit, wickedness, and cruelty, you should be trapped within arboreal confines, forced to remain rooted in the center of the city until the day someone weeps for your plight. Yet that is unlikely, given the _unforgivable_ _savagery _you have shown!"

—exile—

"I should banish you to Jötunheim, powerless! See how you fare against the very people you tried to annihilate!"

—and disownment. _Can't disown what isn't yours, _Father.

Now the man was pontificating about knowing one's _place_, how his crimes—committed out of _jealousy_ and _spite_, nothing else—had sullied his family's honor, brought them immeasurable _shame_, wounded their _hearts_—

It was deeply amusing how Odin insisted on using possessive adjectives—their, we, us—as if to make his wayward foundling's actions see even more all-encompassing. Also interesting was that his rant was suspiciously lacking any mention of Loki's _true_ heritage, which told him that Odin feared that the realm would take the news as well as Loki himself had. Imagine—the King of Asgard had let a _Frost Giant_ walk among them, for centuries! Worse yet, he had given him a place of power—made him a _prince_, no less! Really, the _scandal_…

_I see what you're doing, All-Father. Words are _my_ specialty, remember?_

Now, if only he could _use_ them… But, patience. He had nothing if not patience. And so he watched and listened. He kept his expression neutral (not even giving a sarcastic blink whenever he was referred to as "Odinson"), his stance upright, and his gaze level. Never would he allow even a _pinprick_ of weakness to be revealed. He would give Odin _nothing_, and wait.

"…As King of this realm, I demand an explanation for these atrocities." From his gilded throne, Odin stared him down, his only eye smoldering with disappointment and contempt. "Loki Odinson, do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Ah, and _this_ the was right moment for a sarcastic blink. _Honestly, man, now you're just being petulant._ He had waited long enough. With a casual flick of his wrists, the gag and manacles—meant to fetter his magic, _please_—evaporated. Ignoring the collective gasp of the small congregation that had been summoned, Loki clasped his hands behind his back and opened his mouth to speak.

"Enough!"

…only to be interrupted. Yet again. But he would make allowances if it gave him the rare bestowal of watching the dutiful, demure All-Mother lay into Asgard's mighty King.

The gilded doors to his left had been thrown open and the Queen had strode forth, refusing to acknowledge the protests of the guards when her eyes were trained on her husband.

"I advised you to remain in your chambers—for your own peace of mind," Odin reminded her in the stern voice of underlying warning. "You do not want to be present for this."

"Mother, please." And there was Thor, ever willing to follow Odin's example. "This will only upset you." Loki received a marvelous look of distaste following this and made certain to keep his expression blank.

"It is not your place to dictate my wants," the Queen responded, sharply eyeing both her legitimate child and her husband. "If I wish to see my son, I shall."

And this, Loki knew, was why no matter what happened, how vehemently he rejected Odin's belated attempts at fatherhood, how frequently he denied a bond between Thor and himself, he would always acknowledge Frigga as his mother.

Though his fist clenched around Gungnir, eventually Odin relented.

"You'll not approach him, nor exchange words with him. I will not allow his punishment to be diminished by a mother's overwrought sympathies."

With a cool nod, she took her place on the arm of her husband's throne, but Loki saw Odin's eye flick upwards and over, narrowing at someone in the doorway as if to say _This is all _your_ fault._

And watching that individual as she met the All-Father's glare with haughty indifference, Loki had to admit that the man's suspicions were likely correct. The woman did so love to…encourage people. Even him. Not often enough, and not in the way that he had needed, but it was appreciated all the same.

"My lady, _your_ presence is _not_ permitted within my hall," Odin stated, impressively managing to convey irritation while maintaining a veil of decorum.

"Verily," she accepted, "but I have sworn an oath of everlasting loyalty to my husband, thus I shall remain by his side forevermore."

There was not a hint of sarcasm in her voice, but Loki knew that anytime the woman spoke to someone using flowery speech, that person was being mocked. He had been on the receiving end of it often enough—_verily_.

Odin snarled, "Now is _not_ the time for—"

"Actually, perhaps it would be best if she stayed?" Loki ventured, making his tone soft, polite, even chastened. "You recall, All-Father, that I am bound by her magic to be forthright with her. Ergo, what better way to receive an honest account than in the presence of my wife?"

And _oh_, the All-Father _knew_ he was up to something, no matter how sincere Loki's meek words and bowed head appeared to be. But, _he_ could see that the man was too arrogant to think that his false-son had a chance to turn this in his favor. So Odin nodded his acquiescence, and gestured to the small throne on the Queen's left, the one that had once belonged to Loki.

"Princess Sigyn, be seated. And pray ensure that he speaks nothing but the truth."

Loki felt his lips twitch even as he chose to ignore the fact that his wife had yet to acknowledge him. Really, after over a year spent in the Chitauri's detestable company, he was desperate for any sort of amusement. And this? This promised to be a _riot_.

* * *

¸.•°*°•.¸

* * *

"Before I begin, All-Father, I would ask that you grant me one request?"

Begrudgingly, the King nodded.

"I ask only that I be permitted to speak without interruption until I have completed my tale."

"Granted," Odin allowed and Loki inclined his head in thanks.

"May I start by expressing my profound thanks to you, my King, and truly all of Asgard, for what you have done for me." He bit his lip, looking contrite. "I…realize that due to my…previous behavior…you may believe my feelings to be insincere—and you are justified in your doubt. However, it is my greatest hope that when I am finished with my account, you will find it in yourself to accept my gratitude."

He inhaled deeply, playing the nervous, hesitant _veslingr _they all thought him to be.

"Now I must confess: I _was_ working with the Chitauri—" Their little audience gasped at this. "There was no manipulation, coercion, indoctrination…nor was any geas used to control my thoughts. I acted of my own free will. But before you pass judgment, allow me to explain that my allegiance…was a _farce_."

Behind him, someone gave a snort of disbelief. He believed it to be Lady Sif—she was the only person who was churlish enough and who openly detested him enough to be so rude during such a grave event. Still, he kept his eyes forward.

"When I…fell…from th_e __Bifröst_..." It was with the intention of dying. But now is not the time_. _"…I believed I would die. Instead I eventually found myself a prisoner of the dreaded Chitauri. Granted, 'prisoner' is a kind word—I could have easily escaped. However, what one must realize about the Chitauri is that, for all their enormity, for all their exceptional brutality…they really are rather _dim_. To the extent that they revealed their plot to seize Asgard and annihilate all of its inhabitants."

Another collective gasp—honestly, it was as if they rehearsed these things…

"To say the least, learning that a sadistic race of barbarians plans to invade your realm, one begins to feel considerably…" _Less suicidal._ "…more determined." He flashed a sheepish grin. "In spite of all that transpired during my brief time as King regent…Asgard is still my home. It is where my loyalties will always lie. If you remember but one thing from this narration, let it be that, no matter how it may appear, all that I have ever done has been for the good of Asgard."

Not a lie, though not a complete truth. It was one of two holes in the loop of Sigyn's binding spell, and Loki was well acquainted with both.

"I explained my situation to my captors—omitting certain exploitable details, of course. After hearing the story of a lifetime of scorn, isolation, and derision…of having my talents mocked and undervalued, my advice and opinions cast aside—even though I frequently warned everyone of the potential dangers their actions posed, though my allegedly _worthless_ skills were what often saved people from their own stupidity, and though I was repeatedly rewarded by having blame cast in _my direction_ because the best solution to the threat of exposing the flaws of the gods is to paint said threat as a _liar_ and a _miscreant_. It was perfectly logical when said person was already seen as _ergi_ for using knowledge and _seið_ as his weapons. And it was so easy to ignore the fact that no matter what his tactics, he never shied from battle when it was necessary."

His breath was coming in slow, heavy bursts, making it seem as though he was trying to temper his outrage. But no, this resentment was a deeply rooted wound, long neglected and left to fester for over a millennia. He _was_ angry—_furious_—but his words were too precise, bore the sting of painstaking consideration, for this to be a spontaneous fit of emotion.

"_Centuries_ of being relegated to the shadows, of having my accomplishments _sneered_ at when they weren't overlooked entirely…of never receiving _one ounce_ of encouragement or acceptance from those who swore their love and devotion to me." Eyes on Odin and Thor, now. A mirthless laugh. "Or even an effort to discourage the aspersions of others, or a single word in my defense." _Your support and respect—I would have been content with that. _"Nothing. Because choosing strategy over blind violence is seen as the actions of a _liesmith_. And then, hearing of the vile revelation that my family is not my family—that my entire _life_ has been built upon a _lie_…it was easy for the Chitauri to believe that I would turn traitor.

"Perhaps I should make it clear that I would have escaped to Asgard to warn you all of the impending attack, but then…" A smile—thin, helpless. "…who would have believed me?"

His mother, normally so composed, appeared devastated. Thor looked dumbstruck—moreso than usual. Odin's expression was an odd mixture of vexation, chagrin (oh yes, he knew that his Jötunn foundling had spoken the truth), possibly even remorse. Loki saw several of the council members exchange glances while the Warriors Three shifted uneasily and Lady Sif gave a defensive huff. And his wife…though her face was as stoic as ever, her eyes shined with a mutual understanding—a _frustration_. Her pursed, silent mouth spoke volumes of her disapproval. But it was unwise to dwell on any of that, now. He pressed on.

"And so I made an alliance with the enemy. Soon, I was able to convince them that it would be wise to obtain the Tesseract before attempting to conquer Asgard. Perforce, I had to turn this into a barter for my own benefit, as my anger wasn't enough to convince them that I would so willingly betray my kingdom.

"After visiting Thor during his banishment, I investigated the Midgardian organization known as SHEILD. I wanted to make certain that they only intended to hold him captive, not subject him to torture or experimentation." Thor's expression (startled, moved) was ignored. "Instead, I uncovered the location of the Tesseract—as well as information on an elite team of warriors that Midgard's government planned to assemble. At the time, this knowledge was of little use to me, but _now_ it had suddenly become an incredible boon.

"I informed my captors that I knew the key to a victorious conquest and that I would readily deliver it to them—if they provided me with the means to rule Midgard. Once I had secured the Tesseract, I needed to ensure that it did not fall into the Chitauri's possession. After assessing Midgard's renowned '_Avengers_,' I determined that they were most qualified to distract the Chitauri menace and, ideally, _destroy them_." He gave a hesitant smile. "And they did. Now the Tessaract has been returned to its rightful place, and the threat to Asgard was eliminated before it even reached our realm. Better still, Asgard has suffered no losses."

"The same cannot be said for Midgard!" Thor suddenly raged. Of course. Count on the God of Thunder to not adhere to his 'no interruptions' request. Loki sighed inwardly (saw his wife roll her eyes at Thor), but quickly adopted a remorseful countenance.

"A regretful consequence—one I had hoped would not be necessary—but I was aware of the possibility when I made my plans. All I can say in my defense is that I thought it better to sacrifice the lives of frail, mortal strangers than those of Asgardian citizens."

There was a quiet murmur behind him, and Loki knew that the odds were turning in his favor. The Æsir had nothing against mortals, but most of them were too arrogant (and in his case, logical) to see the sense in growing attached to a primitive society that only lived for a few decades. And before his banishment, Thor had been in agreement. But now it seemed that his once-brother had reason to protect the infantile realm—a woman.

Ah well, he mused (a quick glance at Sigyn), it wasn't as if he was innocent of committing any regrettable acts for the sake of a woman. However, it seemed that Thor's lover had caused him to forget his previous indifference toward Midgardians, for the thunder god blustered on:

"If what you say is true, then _why_, brother—" He ignored Loki's pointed scowl. "—did you turn my fellow warriors and I against one another? Why did you not ask for help?"

"Because the gaze of the Chitauri leader could rival even Heimdall's omnipotence," Loki answered simply. "I couldn't very well explain the situation without revealing my plan to betray him and his followers."

Thor, Odin, and Frigga all looked to Sigyn: A plain nod in answer.

"As to your first question…" Loki did not bother to hide his disdain. "…the amount of testosterone in SHEILD's flying machine was practically _stifling_. There was little chance that you would learn to function as a team when all of your egos were competing for dominance. So, I encouraged a group of warriors to cooperate by using the only language they understand: sparring. Eventually, someone would sustain a grave enough injury that the rest of you would feel chastened enough to treat one another with mutual respect."

"And for that the Son of Coul—an innocent man—had to die—!?"

"He isn't dead—"

"Silence!" Odin commanded. "Loki, whilst all of that may be true, it does not explain your attempt to _murder your own brother_."

Oh now _really_. Either the old man was going senile or he was being deliberately obtuse. Surely Odin knew that Loki was _more_ than capable of killing Thor _had he the desire?_

"Thor is not my brother, as you are well aware," Loki reminded him tersely. "All familial issues aside, if you are referring to my sending a Destroyer to Midgard…I never intended for it to _kill_ him. I needed him to return to Asgard—as a _god_—and endangering his life was the quickest way to make that happen. I suspected that you, All-Father, would never strip your favored heir of his power without including a failsafe in the event of his impending death, so I used that to my advantage."

Odin's mouth thinned sourly at having been found out, and Thor looked as though he was struggling to take all of this in—_So much for your lesson in humility_—while his wife looked quietly triumphant and his mother concerned but curious.

"Why did you want your—brother to return to Asgard?" Frigga's soft question.

Now Loki managed to look suitably abashed, hanging his head as he admitted: "In case something went wrong with the attack on Jötunheim. If I failed…I needed Thor present in order to protect the realm." He sighed, appearing regretful. "Granting the Frost Giants access to the Weapons Vault served two purposes: It alerted the All-Father of the rising Jötunn threat, and it postponed Thor's coronation until he was _ready_ to be King. I would like to mention that, in the months prior, I had expressed my concern regarding both matters to the All-Father but my warnings went unheeded."

His mother shot Odin a searing glare as the King ruefully closed his eye. Loki nearly smirked but then saw Thor regarding him with a strange expression, one that was reminiscent of a hurt child. It was a look that he was familiar with, though usually it was he who was wearing it.

"Loki…" Thor breathed. "Did you truly not wish for me to rule?"

"Not then, no." Firm, truthful.

Betrayed and confused, a frown creased the other man's forehead.

"Why did you never say anything?"

"Would you have listened? Can you answer that question honestly, knowing what kind of man you were?" He finally looked at Thor, really _looked_ at him for the first time since falling into the _abyss. He _let his eyes fill with all of the sadness and disappointment that he felt for the man who had once been his brother. And _this_, this was not a lie. "Or would you have taken offence and demanded that I _know my place?_" He shook his head, inhaling sharply. "You could make a fine king someday, Thor, and I would be happy for you. But not today. Not yet."

Silence was heavy in the air as Loki took a moment to allow his words to be absorbed and to regain his composure. This was why he only ever flirted with honesty.

"I never meant for Thor to attack Jötunheim, nor did I want him banished. But there was nothing to be done—the All-Father had succumbed to Odinsleep, Thor was gone, Asgard was facing a Frost Giant invasion, and suddenly, I was King. I felt the need to act.

"Admittedly, trying to eradicate the Jötunn race was a foolish endeavor on my part—one largely influenced by anger and a need to prove my capabilities." _And erase that accursed part of myself._ "It was irrational, yes, but I feared retaliation from the Frost Giants for Thor's earlier attack. Again, I felt that, rather than lose any of our citizens by engaging in combat, it would be better to use the _Bifröst to_ eliminate the Jötunn threat in a single sweep."

Releasing a hard, shuddering breath, his vexation threatening to peak, he continued on.

"I told no one of this because I know how little loyalty is felt for me and because such a strategy goes against our realm's preferred method of attack. Regardless of the lives that would have been spared, I doubt that many Asgardians would have seen any honor in such actions."

_Because unless one is charging head-on into the line of fire, one has no bravery._ Lips pulled taut, thoughts barely refrained from being voiced. _I sometimes think that '_bravery'_ is by far the kindest word for _'stupidity_._'

"So you see, I am grateful, All-Father. I truly am. To you and all of Asgard. For, were it not for your blatant favoritism, I might have thoughtlessly followed Thor like everyone else while the kingdom fell to ruin. Were it not for Asgard's parochial civilization constantly sneering at intelligence, peaceful negotiation, and covert tactics, I might have never put forth such an effort to master and prove their value. I might not be as skilled at trickery as I am, and thus would have stood little chance at deceiving the Chitauri. If I hadn't endured such a _dearth_ of support all my life, I might have been so arrogant that I lacked the caution necessary to plan for every outcome—including my own failure. And were it not for the All-Father's decision to keep my true heritage a secret from me…." His voice grew quiet, reflective. "…I never would have discovered the Chitauri's plot against Asgard."

"Loki," the All-Father said quietly, "though I want nothing more than for that to be true, all that you have given me is your word—and I mean that not as a slight against your honor, but as an indicator of a lack of evidence."

"Father," Thor began, always willing to believe the best in people. Fool. "Have you forgotten the oath he has sworn to the Princess Sigyn?"

"I am afraid that her confirmation is not enough," Odin sighed, and he actually looked regretful. "While Loki has taken a vow of truth, _she_ has taken a vow of loyalty. That window could easily allow her to sustain any of his lies. It grieves me to say it, but I cannot accept his account without stronger validation."

Just as Loki was about suggest a truth serum (not that it would be effective, but Odin didn't know that), his mother laid a gentle hand on the King's arm.

"But husband, we have our validation." The Queen reached into the folds of her stately, white-gold gown and unearthed a necklace.

Loki grinned. Of course. For all his mother liked to showcase her jewelry, she preferred to keep this particular item tucked away, though rarely did it leave her person. The necklace's properties were unmatched and unfailing, and it would glow like burning coals whenever someone told a lie. Now, with its delicate chain curled around her fingers, his mother held it aloft for all to see: A large amber pendant, winking mutedly in the light of the hall. Beautiful, but undeniably dull and lifeless.

"He speaks the truth…" Odin murmured, his lone eye wide.

"My brother speaks the truth!" Thor declared jubilantly.

At once, the Warriors and the council began to chatter feverishly. Loki thought that he heard Volstagg say, "You see? I _told_ you he was never truly malicious" but he couldn't be certain. In a single second, his mother had alighted from her dais and thrown her arms around him.

"Loki," she whispered, a hand cradling the back of his head. "My clever boy…my clever, darling little boy… I am so proud of you."

Without warning, his eyes began to sting. He quickly pressed his face to his mother's shoulder, tightening his own embrace.

"I've missed you, Mother. I'm sorry to have worried you."

His mother shook her head, gently cupping his face as she pulled back.

"Dwell not on that." She smoothed her thumb across his cheek. "You're here, now. That is all that matters."

He smiled wanly, suddenly feeling rather overwhelmed. It was almost a relief to hear the All-Father bring Gungnir down on the floor.

"Loki," he pronounced solemnly. "My…son. For your admirable devotion to this realm, your indefatigable concern for its continued prosperity, and your magnanimous efforts to protect its people even at the risk of your own life…I, Odin All-Father, thank you. The Kingdom of Asgard will be forever in your debt. I hereby clear you of all charges and reinstate your titles, as well as all of the rights and privileges that they entail. May you never again doubt your place in the House of Odin."

Loki could only nod, face blank.

This was where he was supposed to acknowledge the All-Father as a most gracious and compassionate ruler, his head bowed and humbled as he uttered his own thanks with the deepest sincerity. At the very least, he should have felt proud of himself for getting one over on the entire kingdom—and for the benefit of others, no less. And yet…he mainly felt indifference. For truly, what else could the All-Father have done but commend Loki's fortitude?

Ah, well, perhaps it was this bone-deep exhaustion brought about by his latest escapade. Playing the hero was almost as tiresome and frustrating as telling the truth. Thankfully, his list of tasks was nearing completion:

- Save Asgard

- Clear name

- Get hair cut

- Apologize to Mother

- Recompense wife

Unfortunately, the third and fourth would have to be reversed, much as he would have preferred to have returned to Asgard sans the greasy mop he currently sported. As for that last one…well. It would have to happen sooner or later. Sooner would be easier. (That didn't mean that he was looking forward to it.)

Thor being the cheerful, forgiving oaf that he was, was calling for a celebration in Loki's honor—one that spanned two weeks, at the very least. Loki could not think of anything he would rather do less, though neither could he recall when last he had felt so welcomed. Just when he had lost his desire for it… Funny how things worked. This and the knowledge of what he must yet do left a bitter taste in his mouth, the vinegary remnants of cheap wine.

"My thanks, but do not forget, Thor, that your victories on Midgard also deserve commemoration. As you have much more experience with such things—" He didn't mean to sound spiteful—well, perhaps a little. "—by all means, you should partake in the festivities. I, however, must decline."

Predictably, Thor began to protest.

"Nonsense, Loki—I must atone for ever doubting you—"

He held up a hand.

"The battle has left me weary, and I would like to retire to my chambers for the evening."

His mother's necklace began to glow, causing everyone's eyebrows to arch in surprise. Loki pursed his lips.

"Very well." He coughed. "If I must be honest, I fear that I have deeply wronged my wife with my absence and intend to spend my evening, ah, _making it up_ to her."

Silence while the pendant dimmed, then—

"Brother!" Thor exclaimed, laughing heartily as he gave him a slap on the back that nearly brought Loki to his knees.

"Haha, as insatiable as a satyr," Fandral leered giving Loki's arm a good-natured punch. Loki winced—honestly, and they wondered why he didn't care for their company? And hadn't they all spent the last several months (or centuries?) loathing his existence? He supposed that all of that had been forgotten the moment he had proven himself a capable (if unconventional) warrior. How fickle. How Æsir. Thankfully, he would not have to endure it for very long.

"Go then, Loki, and tend to your lovely wife," Thor insisted. "Later, you will join us in celebration."

"No, actually. I don't think I will." He carefully detached himself from the group, letting his eyes linger on his mother, Odin, and Thor. His wife had vanished elsewhere seconds ago, and Loki hoped that he wouldn't have to track her down. He was eager to be _gone_.

"Despite my loyalty to Asgard, I do not wish to stay. Frankly, I feel that this realm, though great, has reached a period of stagnation. It's an opinion I've long held. I believe that the best way to remedy this is to take my leave before I inevitably wear out my welcome."

Numerous objections were made, all expressing disbelief, disapproval, confusion, and outrage, until the All-Father once again called for silence.

"Loki," he reasoned, both placating and stern. "I would prefer that you remain here."

"And what would you do, All-Father?" Loki asked, a cool challenge. "Declare me Prince Regent?"

The King hesitated a second too long and Loki narrowed his eyes.

"Or would you return me to the cell where I have spent the last five days? I rather liked it there. It felt as if it had been made _especially for me_."

"Son or not, without the knowledge that I now possess, I had you confined for the good of the realm. I do not regret those actions. Certainly_ you_, of all people, understand the necessity for compromise in the name of universal preservation?"

"I'll admit, it _was_ impressive," Loki continued as if the King hadn't spoken. "The way it very nearly suppressed my abilities… It must have taken _centuries_ to build."

Silence. Heavy, condemning silence.

Loki could feel his mother's magic begin to flare with rage, and he did not envy the regretful-looking All-Father. Meanwhile, his once-brother and the man's friends were all whispering conspicuously.

"Thor," he stated, watching as the thunder god snapped to bewildered attention. "You have earned your victory. Go—enjoy it, and please restrain any attempts to talk me out of this. And if ever you encounter your 'Avengers', kindly offer them my apologies—and my thanks." He turned on his heel. "Now, if you'll all excuse me, I would have words with my wife."

Head high, Loki strode to the great doors of the Throne Room's entrance, his image fading with every step.

"One more thing," he called, a mere echo in the great hall. "You're welcome."

* * *

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* * *

Though his schemes typically ended well, rarely was life in general willing to operate in his favor. So when Loki entered his chambers and saw his wife sitting at her vanity, he wondered if he should be worried that the Norns seemed to have decided to grant him some mercy. Regardless, at least now there would be no need to embark on a spouse search.

For a moment, they simply stared at one another.

There were words he had to say yet did not want to, and Sigyn looked as though there were words she _wanted _to say yet did not know how to voice.

"I'm afraid I'm at a loss," she finally uttered. "You're leaving?"

"Yes," he replied, not questioning how she had known. Sigyn was hardly a gossip, but she enjoyed being on top of everything and knew many a spell that would ensure this.

"So soon?" A muted query.

"Asgard no longer feels like home. It never truly did."

"Not even now, when you will no doubt have dozens fawning over your newfound martial prowess?"

"I am repulsed by sycophancy. You know that."

"It _was_ rather impressive, though. I'm speaking, of course, of your performance today, as battle praxis has never captured my interest. It wasn't on par with your flyts, but still it was…noteworthy." Her smile was small but sincere. "Besides, I always enjoy watching the All-Father be proven wrong."

"You never thought me a traitor, then?" he ventured, mildly surprised. Sigyn knew exactly how far-reaching his power was, knew that he could seize a realm at any time. And her contempt for him, though it had dwindled to where they could converse amiably as they did now, should have returned full-force upon hearing of his crimes. His wife may have sworn loyalty to him, but he doubted that she _cared_ for him. Just as he doubted that their couplings, though heated, had held any passion.

"Mm, not really," she replied offhandedly, now focused on artfully arranging her hair. "When I first learned of your activities on Midgard, I tried to make sense of them but nothing added up. It seemed more plausible that it was all a ruse."

"Thor believed it to be true."

"Thor," she said measuredly, "is a bit of an idiot when it comes to those he cares for, especially the All-Father."

"Yes, and now it's clear that Odin always has expected the worst of me," he noted bitterly, ignoring the glaring implications of her statement as he came to stand behind her.

"To be fair, he's never been comfortable with anyone who can naturally wield _seið. _You know how wary he is of my mother although he never shows it. It's just as likely he commissioned your special cell to house her."

"Or someone more powerful," he ventured, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

"Yes…well…" She sniffed airily, changed topics. "You should visit your daughter. Apologize for worrying her."

"How is Hela?" His voice was quiet and strained.

"She is well—concerned, but in agreement with me that you haven't gone mad. Though your choice of attire suggests otherwise." A critical eyebrow, scrutinizing his objectionable armor.

"I assure you, it is a Chitauri design and not my own." A pause. "I take it that it wasn't long before the two of you realized that I wasn't dead?"

"Not influentially long, no," Sigyn replied. "Mother has banned you from Valhalla, and when it was clear that you wouldn't turn up in Helheim…what other explanation could there be? We assumed you had your reasons for not informing anyone of your survival and left it at that."

At once, Loki felt a true swell of gratitude. That his wife accepted his children, that she had consoled his daughter, that she and Hela were both so clever…

There was a question in her eyes, worrying _Did I do the right thing?_

He replied with a subtle nod.

Of course she had. Powerful though Sigyn was, this was _his_ dilemma; he had refused to drag her into it. And so, feigning weakness, he had allowed the Chitauri access to his surface thoughts, keeping his mind awash with plans for revenge, conquest, glory—fear at what would happen should he fail. For their own safety, he had not permitted himself to dwell even for a second on Sigyn, his mother, or his children.

"Have you spoken with any of my sons?"

"Jörmungand was devastated—hence the upsurge of hurricanes on Midgard—and Sleipnir inconsolable until they heard that you lived, and Fenrir escaped after biting off Tyr's hand."

"_What?_" he exclaimed, torn between shock and delight.

His wife smirked. "Tyr insisted on escorting me to Lyngvi for my own protection. After I had told Fenrir of your fate, he became upset. Then Tyr made a few tactless comments about your character…at which point, Fenrir flew into a rage, slipped out of his collar, ate Tyr's hand, and fled."

"Remarkable that he was able to escape Gleipnir," Loki mused, eyeing Sigyn dubiously. "I had thought the chain unbreakable."

"Well, your offspring _are_ remarkable," she reminded him.

"I take it you, Incantation-Fetter, were so overcome with terror that you were rooted to the spot?"

"Of course." Her lashes fluttered demurely. "I am but a weak and simple woman. When my self-proclaimed defender is being mauled, what else can I do but stand aside and pray for mercy? Besides, Tyr had it coming; he was forever taunting Fenrir."

"Do you know where he went?"

"I couldn't say," Sigyn answered but glanced to the golden, Dwarf-forged Brísingamen glinting in her open jewelry chest. Nidavellir? No, Svartálfaheim, then. Unlikely that anyone would think to look for Fenrir in the land of those who had crafted the chains that had bound him.

"Thank you," he told her earnestly. "For caring for my children, even though you are under no obligation. I cannot begin to repay you."

"There was something about 'making it up to me,' as I recall? You could start there."

It was all too much. Since his return, Loki had felt it building: everything—every thought, every emotion that he had crushed and stowed away since encountering the Chitauri. It had reared its head in the Throne Room, but he had suppressed every thought of his wife, his brother, his home—of the family that once was. Now, it was suddenly hitting him full-force. His knees felt weak, his breath came short, and he still had to tell her. He _had_ _to_. It had nearly ruined him, finding out the truth for himself; he would not do that to her, nor would he allow her to remain a part of an unwanted marriage. He would be a burden no longer.

"Sigyn…" he began.

"You're right," she allowed. "Much as I'd relish in seeing how you go about it, I'd rather see you rest. You look exhausted."

She was being polite. Though his injuries had healed quickly enough, the Chitauri had delighted in setting his very nerves on fire and the "Hulk's" beating hadn't helped. He hadn't been permitted to bathe or even change his attire since returning to Asgard, forced to remain in his battered and dust-coated armor. Making his case to the All-Father had left him utterly drained. He felt ill and undone, and could not remember when last he slept—a shame to his nearly flawless memory.

"I need to leave—" he murmured wearily.

"You can take the time to rest, first—"

"No, _first_ I must tell you something." Loki drew a breath, clenching his eyes shut. "Has…the All-Father spoken to you…of my heritage?"

"He informed me that you are adopted, but by Asgardian law, adoption into the ruling family officially makes you a member of both the Æsir and the nobility. Ergo, our titles and citizenships are still valid."

Loki had to smile a little at that. Trust his wife to focus on power and position, rather than a family's deceit. Then again, the Vanir were known for their promiscuity, their fertility, and their large families as a result of both. He knew for a fact that, of Sigyn's nine sisters, five (at least) were half-siblings, yet they were all deeply devoted to one another. Perhaps a lack of blood-ties simply wasn't an issue for her.

He doubted that would be so once she knew the truth.

"Odin did not tell you of my _true_ family. I figured as much. Asgard would have his head if word escaped..." Loki paced, feeling slightly sick and pressing a hand to his stomach. It made him think of Sleipnir and Hela—would Sigyn still care for them once she knew? He thought of how bearing children repulsed her, despite her heritage, and how he had never told her that he would have carried their get himself when they were ready for parenthood. No woman would deign to have children with him if they knew what he was.

"I am not an Æsir." A choked admission. "Not by birth. My father, my…my real father…was…Laufey. King ofJötunheim. I…I am…"

Sigyn had grown stiff, her eyes wide.

"But…_how?_" She nodded, indicating his appearance. "You look nothing like—"

"A glamour. Nothing more." A strangled laugh; he was unraveling. "I was creating illusions before I even had the sense to know what they were. So adept am I at lying, I even fooled myself. Surprising that it held; I've long thought that I bear little resemblance to most _Æsir._"

"Why are you not taller?" Sigyn pressed.

Loki sneered.

"It is for that reason I was abandoned. I am a disappointment even to my own race, and was left for dead during the Jötunn-Æsir War. The All-Father found me, thought he could make an example of me, mold me into the quintessential golden warrior—as proof, perhaps, that he could civilize a culture of savage, bloodthirsty monsters." He gestured dismally to himself. "Obviously that plan fell through. Or else, that was what he wanted all along: A submissive foil to Thor that he could put on the throne of a fallen race to ensure that they would never again be a threat." Loki shook his head. "Either way, I imagine he intended to keep the truth from me. I found out when I came into contact with a _Jötunn_ after Thor dragged his friends and myself to_ their realm_."

His wife leaned further into her chair (_Away from me_), as if she expected daggers of ice to fly from his hands, impaling her upon the plum-colored velvet. But she was also desperately contemplative, eyes scanning him like she was trying to piece together what she knew of her husband to what she knew of Frost Giants.

"Is that why you tried to eradicate them?" she pursued.

"Perhaps, partially," he admitted. "Though, as I said before, my main reason was I felt it the best solution to a potential threat." He swallowed with difficulty, trying to be nonchalant, and thus turned to begin packing. "No matter. You no longer need concern yourself with the likes of me. Soon enough, I'll be on my way, and you'll never suffer the humiliation of having married a monster."

"What are you saying?" Sigyn asked quietly.

So accustomed to keeping his emotions in check, Loki found it easy to distract himself, gathering various tomes and treasures into Mundgerd, the carved leather satchel accommodating anything he desired. He refused to even spare a glance toward any trinkets or portraits because, _sentiment_. Books proved to be somewhat difficult—all highly valued by himself and his wife, every one of them cherished and scribbled in and poured over in equal measure. Would it be fair of him to rob her of such knowledge?

He would likely have more use for them, wherever he was going. Sigyn was pragmatic. She would understand if he liberated a few texts.

But he found himself wavering when he reached the wardrobe. _What to take…?_ The obvious answer should have been anything that belonged to _him_, and it should have been just as apparent which clothing was his, but this…this wasn't like the books, this was different, this was something they _shared_.

Memories—mutual delight in knowing a fellow accomplished shape-shifter; eagerly swapping articles of clothing; Sigyn's suddenly long, encompassing hands deftly lacing up Loki's corset; braiding black, waist-length hair with a woman's practiced expertise; Loki coiled in Sigyn's lap and Sigyn not caring if his partner looked like his husband or his wife, content to hold either one.

Loki stared at the rows of silks and cashmeres, silvers and scarlets, teals and greens, golds, aubergines, lush furs, imposing headdresses, polished and sturdy boots, and dainty little slippers… What was his and what wasn't? For decades, he had enjoyed their shared taste for dark, rich hues and elegant court dress, secretly relished in finally having someone he could _share_ _with_.

And now…

"Did you think this was just another _excursion?_" he spat, suddenly rounding on her. "That I was taking another _jaunt_ and would return after a decade or so of wandering the realms? No." He gravely shook his head. "This is permanent. I am leaving Asgard, and in doing so, I release you of your marriage vows."

Sigyn blanched.

"You mean—?"

"You stated that you would remain my loyal wife, for as long as I would have you." Loki halted. _I no longer want you. I… I no longer…_ It was useless. Even without Sigyn's _seið_ binding his tongue, it would have been difficult to recite the lie. "I will no longer have you," he told her instead. "As a wife, or anything else."

"What's to become of me?"

"Whatever you decide."

"And that's it?" Sigyn's voice dipped low, suddenly stronger, more scathing. "You will turn your back after casting me aside like a hackneyed _trinket?_ And yet you went to _such lengths_ to _obtain_ me—"

"Would you have married me, had you known?" Loki hissed, rounding on her. "Would you have willingly married a _Frost Giant?_"

"If memory serves me, I was never willing to marry you _in the first place!_"

"Exactly," he agreed, glad that she was seeing reason. "Which is why I am granting you your freedom—"

"'_Freedom!?_'" she repeated, outraged. Then laughed. "So now I am a _thrall_ or a _pet?_ Well, I suppose that _is_ a step up from trinket." Sigyn's eyes were practically smoldering and Loki could sense her energy as it rapidly throbbed to its peak. Once, he would have reveled in it; now he tightened his hold on his own _seið_, not wanting it to become swept up in hers. He needed to leave, he reminded himself. If Sigyn could not see that he was trying to do what was right, then so be it. Perhaps it would be better if he left with her curse at his back. It would help shatter any illusions he held of her seeing him as someone worthy of her friendship, if not her love.

"Is that a credit to your 'heritage?'" his wife sneered. "That you view women as prizes to be won? The Frost Giants Thrym and Thiassi thought that of my mother and sister—I suppose it must be so. Even now, you continue to act as though I am yours to treat as you please. Well hear this, _darling_: Vow or no vow, had I ever the desire to leave you, _I_ _would_ _have_, whether you had decreed it or not."

Loki knew this, just as he knew why she had stayed. It had never truly bothered him, then or now. No, what piqued his resentment was the comparison to his loathsome brethren, the fact that she was _right_. The only difference was that he had succeeded in stealing his Vanaheim treasure where Thrym and Thiassi had failed. And no, he had given little mind to her feelings, thinking only of how ideal a union theirs would be. Sigyn would understand that eventually, he had told himself—had been telling himself for centuries. Now, after the revelation of his true parentage, thoughts of his behavior curdled like milk, leaving his mouth sour with shame and disgust. He _was_ like his kinsmen—he was _worse_, for he had refused to relinquish his ill-gotten gain.

Still, he didn't need the reminder.

Vexed, Loki slung Mundgerd over his shoulder; he could find new clothing.

"You are ignorant of what you say," he spat as he stormed past her.

"No, husband, it is you who are ignorant. You speak as if you are being selfless, yet it is clear you have not given a single thought to what this will mean for _me_. I will lose my _title_, my _status_—I will lose any influence I have gained in Asgard—assuming I'm not sent back to Vanaheim."

"You loathe Asgard," Loki reminded her snidely.

"That is irrelevant. Here, I am a princess as I was meant to be, before your false father combined our realms and effaced the Vanaheim monarchy."

"Trust you to have your priorities in order," he muttered.

"As if you are any better!" she snapped. "That's what our marriage is about—what it has _always_ been about: What we can glean from one another."

"Of course." Loki bared his teeth, feeling vicious. All of the fury and indignation that he felt toward his family reared up and aimed for liberation at his wife's expense. "Of _course_," he repeated. "I should never have expected it to be anything more than that. You endured my presence because you hoped there would be something to gain."

"Which was the reason you gave for _marrying me!_" Her voice was tight, quivering, and ended on a shout. Loki ignored her words, instead letting his grin flash like a knife blade.

"No better than the All-Father."

Sigyn's eyes were naught but dark slits. Her command was cold. Final.

"Get out."

So be it. His affairs had been effectuated and were now completed. With a final look at his wife, Loki disappeared in a blink of light.

Sigyn need not know that his parting words were not directed at her.

* * *

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* * *

It was only after he had decided to settle on Midgard that Loki realized that Sigyn had failed to mention Svadilfari and his master in her tirade against Frost Giants.

Impossible that she could have forgotten.

He chose not to dwell on it.

* * *

_Bittersweet and strange…_

* * *

**-****Author's Commentary****-**

_Skeltāri_ – relates to the Old Norse word _skáld_, which typically refers to those who wrote and recited poetry. However, when mentioned with _níð_ or _níðingr_, to _skáld_ is like the Norse version of giving someone a scolding. Only much louder, more intense, and derogatory. _S__keltāri_ refers to the person delivering the verbal bitch slap.

_Níðingr_ – is what you called someone who'd been branded as _níð_, or basically a dishonorable villain. _Níðingrs_ were seen as vile outcasts who only lived to cause harm. They were despised by everyone for committing acts of cowardice, treason, and betrayal, such as killing their kinsmen or innocents. In addition, they were also often considered pathological liars and associated with _seiðberender_ (practitioners of _seiðr_/magic) because both were viewed as cowardly and weak, thus they must be one in the same.

"…a mother's overwrought sympathies" – originally, I didn't intend for Odin to be so sexist toward Frigga, but there is a deleted scene from _Thor_ that made me change my mind. For the record, with both the film and this story, I think that Odin is saying that emotions make people weak, not that women are weak.

_Veslingr_ – is an Old Norse insult meaning "puny wretch."

_Ergi_ – another Norse insult meaning effeminate, weak, and/or cowardly. For men, it also meant that a guy was the submissive partner in a homosexual relationship. While boy-on-boy wasn't that big a deal in Viking culture, being the bottom was. For women, it referred to someone who was excessively lecherous to the point of being borderline insane.

_Seið__ – _basically the Norse word for magic. It was mainly practiced by women, as it was seen as social suicide for a man to take an interest in anything that didn't involve fighting, killing, or sex. Men who practiced _seið_ were often seen as weak (which lead to their also being seen as _ergi_) as well as deceitful because they were resorting to trickery, fighting from a distance (or maybe not even fighting at all!). Because blindly charging head-on into battle and hoping (nay, knowing!) you'll slaughter your opponent is much more honorable and heroic than taking a stealthy and logical approach.

Everyone Blames Loki – this is a nod to the original myths, where Loki is frequently blamed for things that aren't his fault. Though, since things usually are his fault, it's sort of understandable. On the other hand, it's still a debatable subject, as it's difficult to tell when Norse mythology starts being mediated by Christianity and Loki becomes the Norse equivalent of Satan.

"'Bravery' is by far the kindest word for 'stupidity.'" – yet another _Sherlock _reference; specifically, it's another Mycroft reference. Because he's Mycroft and he is everywhere.

Frigga's necklace – I've only ever seen this mentioned twice, and the sources were not entirely reliable. But supposedly Frigga has a necklace that acts as a lie detector and lights up whenever someone is being untruthful. If anyone has any information on it, please let me know.

Gleipnir – is the name of the chain(s?) used to bind Fenrir. It was crafted by a gang of dwarves from Svartálfaheim. They allegedly made it from mountain roots, a woman's beard, the footsteps of a cat (…), fish breath, the sinews of a bear, and bird spittle.

Nidavellir – land of the dwarves.

Svartálfaheim – land of the "dark elves," but dwarves apparently hang out there as well and some theorists pose that "dark elf" is just another term for "dwarf."

Mundgerd – as far as I can tell, there aren't any bags of holding and/or magical satchels in Norse Mythology. So, I decided to give Loki one myself (it certainly seems like the sort of endlessly practical, magical thing he'd have). "Mundgerd" is a Nordic name meaning "protection" or "protective space."


	3. Chapter 3

Note: I apologize for the delay; I've been without a reliable Internet source for some time. That said, I also wanted to mention that, as of now, this story is obviously an AU from _Thor: The Dark World_.

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At first, the Midgardian's expressions are so persistently frozen that it takes a moment to realize that something is amiss. Then, the small, dark-haired girl starts screaming.

"Jesus, Clint!"

"Director's orders," is the bowman's plainspoken reply. Bowman...bow…arrow…oh.

It would appear she has been shot.

There is a distant impression of the sounds of a verbal uproar before the world begins to slow and fade. Strange…

"Jane, calm down."

"How can I calm down, Natasha? He _shot_ _her!_"

"Hey, I was just following orders!"

"That's what the Nazis said!"

"Fury told me to do it—yell at _him!_"

"Nazi!"

"Besides, you think a _god_ can't handle an arrow to the chest?"

"Thor said she wasn't evil!"

"Yeah, but Thor didn't say _anything_ about her having _devil_ _horns_."

"Tony, don't you start—"

"Dude, she was _glowing_, holding a fucking magic _wand_, and calling herself _power_ _incarnate_."

"I'm with Robin Hood on this one. Call me crazy, but I just don't trust chicks who dress like the evil fairy from _Sleeping Beauty_."

"Stark…"

"'Robin Hood?' _Seriously?_ That's the best you've got?"

"…'Katniss?'"

"Director Fury, you _really_ thought it was necessary to shoot our ally?"

"I don't have to defend my actions to you, Dr. Foster. But frankly, I have _had it_ with these mother-fuckin' gods on this mother-fuckin' planet!"

"What do we do now—?"

"Man, Thor's gonna be _pissed_."

The yelling becomes somewhat garbled, then. Shortly after that, everything goes black. Ah, the arrow must have been tipped with a tranquility draught, otherwise she would not be feeling so light-headed so quickly... Nor would she be lying on the ground… When had that happened…? Well, this doesn't bode well at all, does it? And to think, she came all this way to…something… Damn.

Signing as well as she can with an arrow in her chest, Sigyn gathers what little of her wits remained to determine the best course of action. Her _seið_ should be put toward mending her wound and extracting its cause… But in her current state, that would drain what is left of her energy and leave her unconscious and vulnerable before these hostile Midgardians. Prolonging the healing process, however…three days, at most… Yes. A restorative sleep to take care of her injury, and a protective charm to inhibit anyone from touching her, any tools from marring her skin… Yes… Yes, that should do it.

Before allowing her enchantments to take hold, Sigyn hears one of the mortals—the little brunette, she believes—sardonically remark to her cohorts:

"Yeah, cuz I'm sure Loki will be just _tickled_ when he finds out we shot his _wife_."

_Loki_...!? Oh, _well_. It all makes sense, now, doesn't it?

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* * *

When next Sigyn awakens, she discovers that she is lying on the thinnest, most uncomfortable bed in existence and that there are three pairs of eyes staring at her. Also, she appears to be being kept prisoner in some kind of cell made entirely of glass. Really, for all their alleged pleas for her aid, these Midgardians seem desperate to provoke her wrath.

"Idy, she's awake!" one of her visitors exclaims in a whisper.

"We can all see that, Nanna."

"Well, I was only—"

"Be nice to her, Idunn—"

"Thank you, Snotra—"

"—she can't help it if she excels at stating the obvious."

"_You_—"

"You know," Sigyn finally announces, "if I wanted to listen to you three termagants squabble, I would have stayed in Asgard."

"I am _not_ a termagant," Snotra protests, while Nanna envelopes Sigyn in a hug and Idunn breezes over all of them, saying:

"Well, if you had stayed in Asgard, you certainly wouldn't be in this mess."

"Oh _please_, Idy," Snotra cuts in. "We all know that if the situation were truly dire, you would be panicking and sending for the Valkyries."

"And noshing your braid," Sigyn reminds her, smirking as Idunn scowls (unconsciously reaching for her ever-present rope of pale, golden hair).

"So, my sisters," she begins, "as I am in no danger, what brings you to Midgard?"

"Oh, we're not_ actually_ here. We're a projection," Nanna explains in a whisper. Though, given Nanna's perpetually breathless voice, Sigyn wonders if it could truly be classified as a whisper. "Idy didn't trust me on the paths of Yggdrasil," she concludes.

"With good reason," Idunn mutters.

A pout adorns Nanna's bow lips, and her eyes are wide and pitiful, the horribly trite but undeniable shade of forget-me-not-blue. Despite her actually being the third youngest, Nanna has always made people reminiscent of small children: One either wants to cuddle her or smack her across the face, depending on how unbearably adorable and/or pathetic she's acting. Yet it is seldom that Nanna inspires feelings of exasperation and maternity in Idunn, as the eldest is displaying now.

(In the back of her mind, Sigyn knows that she has no right to criticize. She can be just as much of a put-upon matron as Idunn—but only when it's _necessary_. Such as when Loki escaped from Gerroid, or after that eating contest in Útgarð, or the time he—_damn_.)

Idunn turns to her, explaining that "Well, you know how I feel about Heimdall—"

"I still say he has better things to do than spy on bathing maidens, but go on."

"—we simply wished to reassure ourselves, and the rest of our family, that you are _safe_."

"And to heckle you for getting captured so quickly," Snotra adds with a faint grin. Her eyes—small but as dark as Sigyn's own—glint with subdued wickedness. She has always been quiet and clever, rarely demanding attention—much like Sigyn herself, though they are several decades apart as Snotra is the youngest.

"You haven't extended that heckling to any of my captors, have you?" Sigyn asks, sitting up to better assess her situation. Imprisoned. Still clothed. No scepter. And her headdress is gone. Odd.

"There wasn't much reason to." Snotra shrugs, pushing her light, ash-blonde hair behind her ears. "Your protective enchantments have kept them rather busy."

"Really, Sigyn, placing an itching charm on your scepter was uncalled for," Idunn scolds.

"It must have been incredibly potent if even a man made of _iron_ was affected by it—he was ready to chew his own hands off!" Nanna's eyes are, somehow, even wider than usual as she tugs at her honey-colored locks.

Sigyn scoffs. "Better he lose a limb than try to tamper with my scepter. You know these mortals aren't ready for that kind of power."

"Apparently, you weren't ready for _them_. One shot, honestly!" A quick hand pressed to her mouth muffles Snotra's tittering.

"Oh _hush_," Nanna hisses. "As if you aren't relieved to know that our sister is safe!"

"Clever that you thought to enchant your clothing, as well," Idunn remarks.

"Yes…and _interesting_," Sigyn ponders, eyeing Idunn suspiciously, "that I made certain my _seið_ encompassed my clothing, but not my headdress."

Her eldest sister sniffs, inspecting her nails.

"Mayhap your _seið_ finds your headdress as ridiculous as we do."

"Mayhap _you_ ha—"

"Sig, could you at least explain what you're doing here?" Nanna interrupts.

They all stare at her.

"Oh, _Nanna_…" Idunn sighs.

"I went over this before I left," Sigyn reminds her.

"Yes, but I'm afraid your reasoning was a little…vague. In that way that everything about you is…vague."

"She has a point," Snotra agrees, nodding.

"Oh you know our sister," Idunn drawls. "She only does it to seem more attractive. 'I am Sigyn, Aloof and Mysterious. Aren't I captivating?' You know, that nonsense."

"I am _here_ because I was _invited_," Sigyn cuts in loudly. "The Midgardians require my aid. Or so I assumed before one of them shot me."

"Fair enough, but this all seems rather spontaneous, and you don't do spontaneous," Idunn points out. Her eyes are the same shade as Nanna's, but they have always been sharper, clearer, more calculating…and now they regard Sigyn carefully. "This is to do with that wastrel husband of yours, isn't it? He was last known to have settled on Midgard."

So alike, she and Idunn. They each possess a sense of maturity and responsibility that, over time, has forged an unspoken bond between the two of them. The older woman is undoubtedly her favorite sister…and simultaneously the most irksome. For there are things that no amount of empathy will make Idunn understand, no matter how deeply it may run or that it be born of blood. Nay, it is that very loyalty that _prevents_ it.

"Perhaps," Sigyn finally answers. "Or it could be something else entirely. My only option is to wait for the mortals to tell me."

"So that's it?" Snotra inquires. "You're going to…wait?"

"You'll find, sister, that I am highly adept at waiting."

"Ah-_ha_! I sense an ulterior motive!" Nanna crows in a rare moment of insight. Snotra's eyes go wide just as Idunn's narrow. _Damn_. Sigyn raises her hands, palms open, in a pacifying gesture of surrender.

"I'll admit, when my brother-in-law spoke of the innovations that Midgard has made, my curiosity was piqued. Of course, with my duties tripled as they were thanks to the absence of both princes, Asgard neither could nor would not allow me to leave solely for the pursuit of _knowledge_. Nor could I use Yggdrasil, as now my disappearance would surely be noticed… Imagine my delight when I was informed that my presence was required in this realm. And so, here I am. Intent on increasing my knowledge, as ever, and if that entails making myself amenable to these mortals, so be it."

And damn again if Idunn doesn't still have that eyebrow raised. But it is Snotra who speaks first.

"No offence, sister dear, but being amenable is not your forte."

"No," Idunn suddenly corrects her. "No, that's not true. People find Sigyn amenable enough—even _amiable_, at times. It's only after spending a lengthy duration with her that they realize she's a frigid, controlling _harpy_."

"Your confidence in me is a_stoun_ding, Idunn."

"So…you're really going to go along with this just so you can find out if mortals have finally learned proper hygiene?" Nanna wrinkles her nose in confusion. "And you're not worried?"

"Why should I worry?" Sigyn asks. "I've taken far greater risks in the pursuit of knowledge."

"And considering the fact that we overheard those mortals and _this_—" Snotra raps her knuckles against the glass walls of the prison. "—seems to be the best they can do, I doubt they pose much of a threat. Let her have her fun, Idy. She lost her husband only to find out that it was just another one of the wretch's nasty tricks. I can't imagine how disappointing that must have been," she says, turning to Sigyn with touching, frustrating sympathy. "If she wants to play with the mortals, I say let her."

"Here, here!" Nanna cries.

Idunn rolls her eyes but seems to have capitulated. With a sharp look at Sigyn, she demands, "You'll contact us if you get into trouble, yes? You'll send word?"

"Don't I always?"

"No," all three chime. So, what, they're all rallying against her, now? Honestly, her sisters would never survive in politics, not with the way they constantly switch allegiances. Now Sigyn, on the other hand, takes after Njörðr, theirbeloved grandfather-once-king. She knows when to stand her ground and when surrender meant success.

"Fine," she submits. "I give you my word: The second things go awry, I'll do everything in my power to let you know." Ah, the benefits of being wedded to the God of Lies. Omission, ambiguity, and evasion become second nature. Not even her sisters pick up on the loophole that she has left herself: Nanna and even Snotra the Wise merely smile and nod their satisfaction. Worries soothed, curiosity sated, already they are preparing to take their leave.

Except Idunn. Of course. Though Sigyn loves the woman for knowing her so well, so also rather hates her for it. While their younger siblings kiss her goodbye and then flicker out of existence, Idunn remains where she is. So solid that, were she not so attuned to _seið_, Sigyn would question just how much of her sister is present…if she is truly an illusion at all.

As it stands, Idunn _is_ but an illusion. And she is giving her this skeptical, contemplative look that says that she saw that hole in the loop and she _knows_ that there is more to this than what she was told, even though she has no proof. It makes Sigyn feel vulnerable and defensive in a way that she won't allow to be seen. Her frustration, however, that she will make known. Her sister did steal her hat, after all.

"Idunn," she sighs blandly, "don't you have some apples to pick?"

* * *

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* * *

For all his spontaneity, Tony doesn't care much for surprises. Now, the occasional Playboy Bunny hopping out of a cake, tickets to a clothing-optional roller derby—that's all good. Finding out his friend and surrogate dad tried to off him? Not so much. Learning that his hot new assistant is actually a hot super spy? That…actually, that's kind of in the gray area. On one hand, it's an upgrade, because now he gets to see Natasha in a skin-tight, black leather cat suit. On the downside, being a super spy means she can split him six ways to Sunday. And will. And has. Geeze, you steal _one donut_—how was he supposed to know that the maple-glazed cinnamon roll was for her?

Anyway, waking up and finding that his favorite coffee mug has magically disappeared is annoying and unexpected, but not enough to fall in the 'Bad Surprise' category. However, later learning that the magical disappearance of said mug is much more literal than he'd realized? Bad Surprise.

Finding out that his mug has magically disappeared because it's been mug-napped by the (allegedly) all-powerful alien Viking princess who's supposed to be their prisoner?

Terrible, horrible, no good, seriously we're talking _Godfather III_-level of Bad Surprise.

Tony had arrived at SHEILD headquarters around mid-morning to take another crack at activating Princess Di's deadly pimp cane, armed with a lethal weapon of his own: finely crafted work gloves infused with adamantium—definitely _not_ oven mitts, no matter what Bruce says. If the design was _inspired_ by that, well, Tony's not telling. And if it keeps the itching at bay, who cares?

The thing is, as he was headed toward Bruce's lab, he had passed their little princess's holding cell. Lo and behold, the woman had awoken—and they hadn't even needed a prince to make it happen. Which was just as well since Thor would probably be uncomfortable doing it, Jane wouldn't _let_ him do it, and getting Loki to do the honors would mean telling him that they'd sorta-but-not-all-that-accidentally shot his wife with an arrow.

Anyway, at first Tony supposed that it was good that she was awake. The tranq. that Clint hit her with was _not _supposed to last for three freaking days, no matter how god-worthy extra-powerful it was meant to be. Frankly, the team's been getting kinda worried, especially since all they've had to go on is Thor's unhelpful "IT IS POSSIBLE SHE HAS UNDERGONE A HEALING SLUMBER. FEAR NOT, MY FRIENDS, FOR I HAVE OFTEN WITNESSED MY BROTHER USE SUCH MAGIC. SHE SHALL REAWAKEN WITHIN THE WEEK."

(When Thor talks, you just know it's in all caps, whether the guy is yelling or not.)

So their prisoner/charge/possible ally is up. Great. Thing is, once Tony had taken a closer look, he'd realized that she wasn't just _up_, she was—still is—up and _about_. The chick is _active_. She's changed clothes, styled her hair (blonde, really; he hadn't figured that), and is currently sipping from an unfairly familiar-looking coffee mug with the words "Queen Be(atch)" emblazoned on its side in bright purple paint.

As much as he'd like this to be a symptom of a hangover, he knows it's not (not when someone's been pilfering his bar; he suspects Natasha).

And, _urgh_…she's using it to drink tea—_tea_, of all things. The only beverage that that mug should ever contain is the pure, black brew that is St. Helena's finest. And maybe a little something to Irish it up. Y'know, every once in a while.

Yeah, Tony knows that the fact that she's drinking tea isn't really the issue here. That would be where she _got_ the tea, how did she get _his_ mug, etc., when she's supposed to be locked up tight in SHIELD's giant snow globe. Which _he_, Tony, helped _build_, by the way, which means it should be _flawless_ and therefore spell-sucking and inescapable. But, magic. Tony hates magic. Sure, Thor insists it's just an advanced form of science, but Tony's calling bullshit. There is no science that can explain how an alien goddess was able to magic herself a Get Out of Jail Free card to go make some tea, there just _isn't_.

And, oh shit, she's spotted him.

Normally, Tony welcomes it when bombshells like this (and bag of cats crazy or not, Loki sure can pick 'em) look at him with that coy, hungry expression. But Princess Maleficent here looks like she actually wants to _eat him_. And the worst part about that is, it probably isn't out of the realm of possibility. Now, Tony's all for taking the so-called impossible, proving it wrong, and rubbing his victory in its face, but this?

Fucking magic.

But Tony decides to play nice (for now). It isn't like she's actually _committed_ any diabolical deeds (yet), and her introductory spiel about power aside, Thor has insisted that she's the kind, nurturing, sisterhood of the traveling lemon type. But then, this is the same guy who also swore that his little bro _wasn't_ an egomaniacal supervillain bent on world domination.

Okay, yeah, that had turned out to be true. But that doesn't erase the memories of being thrown out a window or having his tower nearly destroyed. And that's to say nothing of his missing socks. Which, for the record, are _still _MIA.

But anyway. Someone, at some time (possibly _Mister Rogers' Neighborhood_), taught him the importance of making a cordial acquaintance. Or some shit like that. Whatever.

(_Note to self: Make a lot of Mister Rogers quips around Steve._)

So he gives her a smile that isn't too forced and waves. Grinning like an advert for Shark Week, her gaze never wavering (shit, she's gonna eat his soul, he knows it), the goddess inclines her head, raising her (_his_) mug in silent acknowledgement.

And, oh, that's cute. That's really cute. Yeah, this chick is definitely Loki's squeeze.

Unwilling to waste another second risking being vaporized or turned into a wombat, Tony pulls out his phone and texts Natasha. Hey, she's always harping on him about taking responsibility for _his_ actions, and this idea—_her _ idea—is a plotline worthy of an _I Love Lucy_ episode. Okay, maybe not. But still. Zany scheme, red hair… It fits, kinda. Well enough to give Tony an excuse to start referring to Natasha as 'Lucy' (behind her back). He supposes that makes Jane 'Ethel' and Clint 'Ricky.' Or maybe Clint's Ethel and Jane doesn't figure into it at all? Because otherwise Thor is Fred, and that doesn't make _any_ sense. Either way, Tony thinks he could rock a pompadour way better than Clint could. And besides, he already has a mental image of Natasha whining about how Tony never lets her save the world, then coming up with a harebrained plan to get involved by hiding inside Tony's electronic conga drum.

Tony thinks that he might have been spacing out when he realizes that their royal captive is giving him an expectant look.

Oh, right, _phone_.

He quickly fires off a text to Lu—Natasha that reads:

_Rally the troops. Sleeping Beauty's awake._

_PS: She stole my mug._

He looks up to see the Viking princess shaking her head at him, lips pursed in disapproval before she very clearly mouths the word '_Snitch_.'

Tony thinks his arc reactor skips a beat.

Yeah, he really hates magic.

* * *

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* * *

By the time the Avengers have assembled, it's become fairly obvious that the Princess Sigyn is only staying in her prison to…what? Humor them? Whatever the reason, Jane's pretty sure the god could escape if she wanted to and she doesn't seem to mind if they know it. Not if the fully stocked bookshelf, Persian rug, and forest green chaise longue are anything to go by. According to Tony, those weren't here when he arrived; just the new outfit and his mug.

She knows better than to say it out loud, but _that_ little incident definitely earned the goddess points in Jane's book. It's not that she doesn't _like_ Tony. She admires him as an inventor and greatly respects the contributions he's made to the scientific community. But if he comes anywhere near her lab again, so help her…

One thing she does not approve of, however, is the way that their would-be ally has been popping up in random locations all over SHEILD. She hasn't really _harassed_ anyone; just criticized their efficiency, switched all of the coffee for herbal tea on the grounds that it was healthier, and somehow gotten everyone a membership to the New York Public Library, claiming that books were just as important as firearms. But considering the fact that many of the agents here are already on edge due to the nature of their work… Jane figures that it can't be good for their stress levels. Plus, it's kind of insulting to the woman's guards, who both insist that they have never _once_ seen her leave her cell.

So, yeah, while Jane is annoyed at Fury for hijacking _her_ project and locking it up for "observation," she's kind of pleased that, so far, it hasn't worked out very well for him. Though hopefully this doesn't make an alliance impossible. (Another thing Jane knows not to say out loud is that she was glad to hear about Sigyn's magical protective barriers that keep anyone from experimenting on her—because that is _so_ what SHEILD was planning to do and they know it.)

Now she, Natasha, Thor, Tony, and Director Fury are all standing outside the princess's cell, staring in at her intently.

"You said she was a Viking Suzy Homemaker," Tony finally says, glaring accusingly up at Thor. "A friggin' _hausfrau_. She was supposed to use her sugar-and-Spice Girl powers to send Loki into a diabetic _coma_, not steal my stuff!"

Thor, who Clint had accurately predicted was and is still thoroughly pissed, all but snarls at him, "Your organization is holding a member of Asgard's royal family captive and _you_ stand there expressing selfish concern for material possessions!?"

"Not my organization, buddy. They just take advantage of my generous financial and philanthropic contributions. And my _concern_ is for the fact that, if she can swipe my mug, what the hell else can she do?"

The princess blinks and an array of colorful throw pillows appears inside her cell.

"Oh," Jane murmurs and she sees Fury's scowl tighten.

"Sigyn!" Thor calls. "How do you fair?"

Though the intercom they're using to communicate with the goddess is state-of-the-art, Jane suspects that that isn't the reason why, when Sigyn responds, it sounds as if she's speaking directly into Jane's ear.

"As well as can be expected, considering…" The princess's dark eyes roam her prison and her lips curl in distaste. "Might I inquire as to _what_ I'm doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Fury cuts in before Thor can answer. "These little…displays of power? I get it. You want us to know you're a force to be reckoned with. You want us to fear you and treat you like a god—that's the same stunt your husband pulled, and I'm _still_ unimpressed."

Princess Sigyn leans forward.

"Frankly, my good man,I don't hold you in very high regard, either. I came to this realm believing that its people were in need of succor that only I could provide. Upon arriving, I endeavored to warn you of _exactly_ what kind of aid you sought—because _I am_ a force to be reckoned with. Yet instead of respect and gratitude, I was greeted with hostility and thrown into a _cell_ like a lowly _miscreant_. I tolerate neither rudeness nor prejudice, and _you_ have exhibited _both_. Consider yourself fortunate that my…'little displays'…are _all_ that you have witnessed. And if you deign to answer my questions, it shall remain that way."

"Sigyn," Thor interrupts in a slightly reproachful tone, "true, my mortal friends have wronged you, but there is no need to frighten them—and certainly not with empty threats. Accomplished _völva_though you are, your use of _seið_ has always been benign."

"As far as you know, brother-in-law," she replies. "Magic can be used for things other than healing and parlor tricks. And some _seiðmenn _are rather modest when it comes to their exploits. However, knowing Midgard's proclivity for coveting and abusing power, I thought it best to warn them before striking an accord."

This is something Jane has been wondering about ever since she started researching Princess Sigyn. Really, when a person has a name that means "Victory woman" and "Incantation fetter" is their epithet, how can they be anything _but_ intimidating? Granted, Jane isn't clear on what that nickname actually means, but whether Sigyn can bind other gods' magic, deflect spells, or break curses (or all three?), it all sounds pretty impressive. Besides that, (and why hasn't Thor realized this?) from what she knows of Loki, he's _un_fettered, mercurial, and prone to playing pranks or traveling when he isn't holed up in a library. So why would the God of Chaos (among other things) hook up with a meek little _doormat_, let alone _marry_ her?

Which is why, when Sigyn first arrived and started going on about unspeakable power and being forewarned, Jane had wondered if the goddess wasn't simply letting them know what they were getting into. Natasha had agreed but explained that Clint and Fury were both kind of wary when it came to Norse gods with big, glowing scepters and control issues. It seems that the only reason Thor is an exception was because he's so likeable. (Jane suspects that the lack of magic helps, too.)

"So I ask," the goddess says, "why was I summoned?"

Silence. Fury is still scrutinizing their captive, a hand held up to keep Thor and herself quiet. Jane looks to Natasha, but the other woman's concentration is devoted to Sigyn, and Jane knows that the redhead won't act until Fury gives the order. Tony, amazingly, keeps his mouth shut, though Jane imagines it's probably because being Loki's wife and a mug thief automatically puts you on the guy's shit list. And on the other side of the glass, the goddess sighs.

"Very well."

She closes her eyes as if in deep meditation, fingers tented before her face.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jane sees Fury stab a button with his index finger. She barely has time to realize what he's done when a bolt of plasma fires from the cell's ceiling.

It stops only an inch away from Sigyn's face, restrained by the princess's dainty hand.

Jane gapes (as does everyone else, she imagines) because the thing is, it isn't like the goddess has erected a force field around herself. No, she is actually, literally _holding _a blast of extremely hot, highly energetic matter _in her hand_. Her arm just shot up—without looking, flinching, blinking—and she _snagged_ it. And she doesn't seem bothered by it at all, just irritated at Fury's nerve.

A look to Thor tells Jane that even _he_ appears to be mildly surprised. He's probably seen people do this before, but never his sister-in-law. Huh.

"Now," the Princess Sigyn begins, voice low in a way that promises carnage, "if one of you would be so kind—answer me: _Why_ was I _summoned?_"

Fury shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat (it's really a security blanket, Jane's theorized, because he's never seen without it). He tilts his head back, giving the goddess the once-over before he seems to reach a decision.

"It's about your husband."

The princess arches her perfectly manicured brows.

"Oh? May I ask why you're interested? I was under the impression that he no longer required Midgard's assistance." And if she didn't say _that_ just to burn everybody. Jane may not have been trained to read people like Natasha has, but she's pretty sure that the faint quirk of Sigyn's lips is a good indicator that she's right.

And now the princess is playing with the plasma. She's actually rolled weaponized energy into a ball and is tossing it from hand to hand. From a scientist's perspective, Jane finds this is fascinating. From a normal human being's, she's kind of paralyzed with fear.

"Sigyn," Thor says, "though I have seen no evidence of it, my mortal friends claim that my brother, your husband, has been sending trolls after them."

A beat. Then—

"Oh, for… '_Troll-_ing,'" Tony sighs, exasperated. "He's been '_trolling_' us. It's an Earth idiom—transitive verb, adverb, adjective, something like that. The guys you're talking about? Live under bridges and have a rainbow assortment of hair colors? They don't figure into this. _Basically_," he goes on, now turning to Sigyn, "your husband's being a little shit."

The goddess blinks.

"That is nothing new."

Tony cocks his head, brows rising in surprise.

"Huh. I might like you after all. But you still got your god-germs on my mug."

Sigyn gifts him with a knowing wink and Tony stiffens for reasons Jane doesn't understand. Then Natasha, clearly fed up with the man's complaints, cuts in before he can say any more.

"Loki has been targeting Thor, myself, and our associates since he returned to Earth."

"Nothing more than his usual tricks," Thor tries to assure the princess. "Unfortunately, mortals take them quite seriously."

"Turning all US currency into Monopoly Money _is_ serious," Natasha seethes and then stomps on Tony's foot before he can whine about his missing socks. She turns back to Sigyn. "His '_antics'_ haven't caused any permanent damage—_yet_—but they could potentially distract us from maintaining the safety of the planet. We were hoping, as his wife, you would be able to reason with him. Thor's informed us that Loki's less prone to cause problems when's he's—"

"Gettin' jiggy with it," Tony supplies, and this time Natasha smacks him upside the head. Jane's torn between snickering and cringing (it _did_ look pretty painful).

"When he's with a woman. Namely _you_," Fury clarifies.

"We were hoping that you would agree to cooperate with us and negotiate with Loki if and when we track him down," Natasha elaborates.

"'Negotiate,'" the goddess echoes, sounding amused as she rolls the plasma between her fingers. "Is that what they call it on Midgard, nowadays? I assume you _are_ referring to sensual partaking of the flesh?"

"Sigyn, that is not appropriate language for a princess of Asgard," Thor warns her but the goddess waves him off.

"As if you are any better with your wenching—but then, as a _prince _of Asgard, that is expected of _you_."

Thor looks annoyed but Jane sees him shift uncomfortably before he says, "I gave up such behavior upon meeting my lady Jane." And he puts an arm around her waist for emphasis. Before she can feel upset, Jane gives herself a mental lecture on cultural differences and concludes that, well, as long as he's given it up for good…

"Forgive me," Sigyn says. "I forget not everyone is as unreserved as the Vanir when it comes to carnal matters."

"Ooh, say that again," Tony insists, looking positively giddy. Trust Tony Stark to go from bemoaning a woman's existence to wanting in her pants. Luckily, Sigyn gives him a look that makes her refusal clear.

"Are you willing to work for us?" Fury presses, ignoring Tony.

"_With _you, possibly," Sigyn replies. "But not without the warranty of a quid pro quo."

"Oh! Now say '_Good evening, Clarice_'—do it," Tony demands and Natasha swats him. "What? She's in a glass cell and everything! You can't _not_ expect me to—" But whatever he says next is lost as Natasha drags him away.

"I would offer to release you in return for your services, but somehow I don't think that'd be worth your while, Power Incarnate." Fury gives Sigyn a pointed look. The princess responds by dipping her finger into the plasma, bringing it to her mouth, and tasting the glowing substance with a satisfied smile. "Right."

"What about this: You release me, provide accommodations suited to a member of the royal family, and refrain from any inquiries regarding my magic. This includes direct questions, covert investigations, and experimentations, as well as demands for ichor and tissue donations. And when I say 'you,' I refer to yourself, your agents, your organization as a whole, and the team of 'Avengers' that I've heard so much about. In exchange, I will make an effort to speak with my husband and make him see reason."

"Sigyn," Thor begins, no doubt prepared to reprimand the woman for being so paranoid, but Fury talks over him.

"If you agree that, _when_ you make him 'see reason,' you'll talk him into forming an alliance with SHIELD, then we have a deal."

"Not until I see it in writing and am given my own copy," the princess commands. "Furthermore, I am not opposed to casting a binding spell to make certain that you keep your word."

Fury holds up a hand.

"That won't be necessary. I'll have someone draw up the papers. In the meantime—" He reaches over, presses a different button, and the cell door slides open. "—these two will get you set up." He nods to Thor and Jane, then looks a little smug when he adds, "She can stay in Stark's tower. As the closest thing America has to royalty, I'm sure he won't mind."

With that, Fury makes his exit, leaving Jane to stand there awkwardly as Thor sweeps his sister-in-law into a hug that, from the sound of it, definitely merits the description "bone-crushing." Once released from the embrace, the imposing goddess (geeze, she's tall; was she always this tall?) gives Thor a weak smile and then turns to stare at her.

That's when Jane realizes that she hasn't said a single word throughout this entire ordeal. Between watching Thor and Fury try to out shout each other, Natasha abuse Tony, and Sigyn play with plasma (speaking of which, where did it go? …did she eat it?), there hadn't been much of an opportunity. Well, that's pretty rude (and here she's always getting on Thor about being polite). It's made worse by the fact that Sigyn is a _princess_ and is therefore used to the (literal) royal treatment. And they've hardly given her a proper welcome.

It is for this reason that, when she finally speaks to Princess Sigyn, Jane says the warmest, friendliest thing that comes to mind:

"So. Wanna join us for Movie Night?"

* * *

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* * *

**- Author's Commentary -**

Fury makes a _Snakes on a Plane_ ref – I had to. Sorry (not sorry).

Sigyn's Sisters – whether it's because the information has been lost to history or simply because she wasn't a prominent goddess, very little is known about Sigyn. One goal of this story is to remedy that, hence giving her a culture and a family. Who's to say that Sigyn didn't hail from Vanaheim and have tons of siblings? Besides, in the original myths, Thor and Loki weren't brothers, adoptive or otherwise. That said, I deliberately chose equally obscure goddesses to be Sigyn's sisters, with the exception of Idunn for plot reasons, as you'll see later.

The Traveling Lemon – for those who caught the _Cabin Pressure_ reference, good for you. For those who don't know what I'm talking about, you may hold off on reviewing until you've managed listen several episodes. It's hilarious.


End file.
